


necropsy in process

by hardkourparcore



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Body Horror, F/F, Female My Unit | Byleth, Horror, Lovecraftian, M/M, Mild Gore, Mystery, Necromancy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardkourparcore/pseuds/hardkourparcore
Summary: It's something of an internship that brings Ferdinand to the isolated town of Neelthod, working as an aid to their current medical examiner, Hubert von Vestra.  He expects it to be a short stay without incident, but uncovers something inconceivably dark lurking in the heart of town.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 82
Kudos: 223
Collections: Sun & Moon 《Ferdibert》





	1. Poor Miss Marianne

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is a bit inspired by [this art](https://twitter.com/Medishurahan/status/1178391618497515521%22) ( cw gore ), I just really liked the late 1800s aesthetic of it, and... Hey, Lovecraftian horror fits right in!!  
2) This is my NaNoWriMo 2019 project. I am very far behind as of posting (11/8/19) but hopefully that's an assurance that I will actually finish this fic.  
3) WARNING: NOT EVERY ONE IS GOING TO GET A HAPPY ENDING. It's not horror if I don't make it hurt, and I already have plans to maim, debilitate, and kill many of the 3H characters. If that's not your thing, it's fine, you can just pass this up. Shipping is not a priority here, but in the end Ferdinand and Hubert will both be alive and together, so there's that?

The carriage rattled loudly on the cobblestone street as it finally brought Ferdinand to his destination. A storm had whipped up partly through, which he'd hoped would clear by the time he arrived, but to no avail. Unfortunately, it would seem his first impressions of Neelthod would be under heavy gray clouds and the threat of soaking himself to the bone.

His optimism kept the rain from soiling his mood. After all, this was a new town, with a new job. There must be have been so many new people to meet, chances to prove himself around every corner. Curious, he sat up and leaned forward in the carriage, to better peer out the small and only window it granted him, so that he could look upon his new temporary home.

He'd been well informed ahead of time that Neelthod was a smaller town nestled comfortably under the shadow of the Oghma mountains. It sat far enough away from the nearest city that to travel to it was an all-day affair, and yet the town itself seemed well enough equipped to be more or less self-sustaining. This was a judgment made by Ferdinand's untrained eyes, of course, but at the same time he could not bring himself to claim that a town boasting burning streetlights or well-maintained buildings could truly be as backwater or primitive as the world outside it might have claimed.

Through the curtain of rain, the brick buildings seemed constructed competently. He could easily tell the difference between the house or the cornerstore, as the later carried a brightly hand-painted sign professing it as _Varley Goods_. Its impression inflicted upon Ferdinand a sense of charming quietness, and he was only too excited until the rain cleared and the sun came up and he would be able to explore it in earnest on his own.

The carriage brought him to an unassuming two-story brick building with a fence separating whatever yard it may have boasted from public view. It stopped: he had now officially arrived.

As it would be too cumbersome to attempt to carry both suitcases and the umbrella hooked on the strap of his messenger bag, Ferdinand would suffer a bit of rain. It wasn't as though he minded in the slightest, though. A little water could be good for the soul, sometimes, and there was something romantic that could be found in such moments regardless. Smiling to himself, he left the dry safety of the carriage and stepped out into the street.

His only pause was to give the carriage driver his due, paying her and tipping her generously. The driver accepted it with something strange touching her face. Her eyebrows drooped, her lips curled downwards, and she offered Ferdinand a plaintive stare with her clear, green eyes.

“...I hope you're not planning on staying here too long, sir,” she said. “Not much good happens here. I hope your business resolves itself soon.”

Ferdinand merely offered her a sunny smile, bright against the gloominess of the present weather. Even if fat rain drops rolled down his face or stuck fast to his hair, he seemed unaffected by it entirely. “It is nothing to worry about! I am sure this will be yet another worldly triumph I will power through swiftly and with resolve!”

The driver's look turned into something more strange than sad. “Goddess bless you, then.”

“And to you, friend!” Ferdinand replied easily. He gathered up his suitcases once more and left the carriage, which in turn left him, and he heard the sound of hooves and rattling wheels against cobblestone as he approached the door.

The building seemed to boast two front doors. One was connected to the street on ground level, while the other was more at level with a basement, and required descending a set of stone steps to access. It was the lower level door that had a bell hung beside it, and though Ferdinand highly suspected that work would have long since finished by now, he descended the steps in order to ring the bell and alert the man he expected to find within.

Though he was optimistic, the rain was still going, and there was no sanctuary from it on the doorstep of this office. He rung the bell twice more before the door finally opened to reveal the town's coroner.

Ferdinand first noticed, perhaps aptly, that the hand visible to him (not currently holding the door open) was covered in blood to the forearm. Feeling a little impolite, he quickly took in the rest of the man's appearance.

He was but a few inches taller than Ferdinand, but his straight posture gave him the appearance of perpetually looming greatly above the redhead. His hair, dark as night, covered one eye and blended into the darkness of the room behind him, as though he'd appeared from the shadows themselves rather than exist on the same plane as common men. The eye left uncovered was sunken into his gaunt face, and its pale color seemed to glow from under the shadow of his brow.

He was dressed in a way Ferdinand felt would be appropriate for a gentleman at this hour. The sleeves of his button down shirt were rolled to the elbow, which was also good, as this meant they would not be soiled by that blood. The major difference was the leather apron covering his front, covered in stains of various shades and carrying one that was bright enough red to be obvious what it consisted of, and how long ago that had formed.

“It's far past the hour for reasonable business,” he said. His voice was deep and with an eerie pitch behind it. So Ferdinand decided it suited him well.

“My apologies, my good sir,” Ferdinand replied. He offered a shallow bow in courtesy. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir. I am looking for the town's coroner, Hubert von Vestra. Perchance, may you be him?”

The man's mouth curled into a lop-sided smile that inflicted Ferdinand with a sense of malice, not mirth. “That _would_ be me,” he answered. “And you are Ferdinand. Come in, come in.”

He stepped aside to allow Ferdinand entrance, and in return Ferdinand gave him a curt nod before pulling himself and his bags through the door way. Inside was still cold, though not as cold as outside, and he was out of the rain so he considered it an improvement regardless.

“I was just in the middle of an autopsy,” Hubert continued. He shut the door behind Ferdinand and began leading him deeper into the building. Though the entryway had been ill-lit, it quickly opened into a larger room tiled neatly, inside of which sat a large metal bed. A corpse sat upon it, and Ferdinand's gaze immediately looked somewhere else – like to the walls, which were lined with metal lockers, presumably capable of holding more bodies; or to the many light bulbs bathing the room in a warm light ill-fitting of the work done.

“I doubt you've performed one before, so this will be your learning experience.”

Ferdinand didn't much appreciate the tone Hubert used to speak to him. It was condescending enough to be unnerving, but not enough to assume the worst of Hubert. Ferdinand preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt, and so he'd acquiesce silently for now.

After all, Hubert was meant to be his tutor momentarily, and Ferdinand would spend the next months under his tutelage before moving onto the next thing. He had little idea why his father was so adamant he follow in the path of a medical professional, and not a politician, so as to follow in his footsteps, but the senior von Aegir had been obstinate in Ferdinand taking this casual apprenticeship specifically.

Evidently, just months ago, their medical examiner passed away from mysterious circumstances, and while it was a respectable position, Ferdinand had heard naught at all of Neelthod before his father suggested this position. However, a new experience could easily temper a man into a stronger person, and Ferdinand was eager to experience all he could to better become a public servant to his best ability. Knowing the intricacies of the life of a coroner would be useful information should he end up becoming a mayor himself, or higher, or even if he worked in a different field entirely.

So the reasons to be polite to such a sinister figure were many, and Ferdinand had a talent for bringing cheer wherever he went, despite his mood.

“I am ready to be instructed,” he replied. He set his bags to one side, then removed his coat and folded it neatly atop them, and scanned the room once more. Beside the corpse a small table with wheels was placed. It held many different tools for the work (Ferdinand could not name them all, but their purpose seemed obvious to him in this context) and also a second pair of rubber gloves. He moved towards them, and gestured to them, but he did not take them without asking first. “May I use these?”

“You may.”

Hubert took a position on the opposite side of the autopsy table, and Ferdinand rolled up his sleeves, donned the gloves, and faced him. Not the corpse.

“Do you not wish to look at her?” Though the question itself was formed from innocent words, the tone with which it was delivered maintained Hubert's condescending, almost teasing mien.

Mildly frustrated, Ferdinand turned his gaze almost violently to the woman atop the table.

She was almost entirely naked, her bare flesh exposed to the air of the room, and Ferdinand felt guilty to see a woman in such a vulnerable state, despite how obvious it was she was truly dead. A white cotton sheet covered her from her feet to her knees, and that was the only cover she really had.

She carried a grisly wound on her chest, though it was likely inflicted by Hubert in his investigation of her cause of death. The more concerning wound she carried was on her right arm, which had been severed just below the shoulder and was otherwise completely missing. Though the severance had been clear and precise, not unlike a surgical cut, Ferdinand could see no reason Hubert would have inflicted that. The reasonable conclusion was that it had to do with her death in some way, so Ferdinand immediately assumed she'd be a homicide victim.

He did not say this, because he was here to learn how to make such decisions wisely.

Above the shoulders, however, the woman looked almost completely serene. She was fair-skinned, and clearly young, perhaps around Ferdinand's own age. Her pale blue hair was styled in a messy braid that was coming apart gently. Perhaps Hubert hadn't needed to investigate her scalp at all, or perhaps he hadn't gotten around to it yet. Perhaps still, he didn't need to disturb such a casually fetching hairstyle to confirm the presence or lack-there-of of signs of head trauma.

She was beautiful, in a way. Rather, it was clear to him that she _had_ been beautiful in life, but in her current state it was hard to really appreciate. Aside from the evident fact that he was looking at a _corpse_, her facial expression made it unsettling to behold her. Her jaw was slack, lips parted dumbly in a silent sound, and her dark brown eyes stared unseeingly forward, wide open. In a way, it looked as if she was caught in a thought and permanently frozen partially through its spoken delivery.

Ferdinand wordlessly moved to close her eyes, then push her jaw in order to close her mouth. Her eyelids stayed, but the jaw did not.

Hubert chuckled from across the table.

“I see you have little experience with corpses at all,” he commented. “How amusing. Why is it you were sent to do this job?”

Ferdinand's brows furrowed in frustration as he returned his gaze to properly address the other. “My father received some sort of request from Mayor Edelgard. I have no love for this work, either, but I will do as he asks and assist her.”

“Lady Edelgard sent for you personally? I find that hard to believe.”

“I do not need proof. You may ask her yourself, at your leisure. Now, who is this?”

Hubert made another sound denoting his bemusement with the situation, but if he had another snarky comment to give, he withheld it. “Marianne von Edmund. Twenty-three years old. She was a resident of our fair city who passed away just this morning. The constabulary is still investigating her apartment, and we are left with her body.”

He swept his hand across her form. “As you can see. What's your first thought?”

“It is sad,” Ferdinand replied, almost instantly. “She had been about my age. It is a waste of life. I hope whoever did this to her sees proper justice come to them swiftly.”

“So you already assume homicide?”

“Her arm. Such an injury would not fit suicide or an accident. It is a clean removal, even I can see that.”

“Astute.” If that was a compliment, it was hard to tell with Hubert. Perhaps soon enough, Ferdinand might have something more or less genuine to compare it to. “Then there lies your first lesson.”

Hubert carried some sort of smile Ferdinand deemed 'sick' in his head, and moved to cradle poor Marianne's shoulder in his hands. He traced the outline of her wound with the tip of his index finger.

“Around the wound we can observe no signs of bruising. This signifies the wound was inflicted postmortem. If we follow your logic that it was homicide, that would mean her killer would have done this for some reason, and with considerable skill.”

Ferdinand nodded. “What have you found from her internal investigation?”

“I still have yet to thoroughly examine each of her organs, but what's interesting is what I found inside her mouth.”

He paused.

“Yes? What is it?” Ferdinand goaded.

“Bruising.”

“Bruising?”

Another chuckle left Hubert's lips. “Are you hard of hearing? That's what I said.”

Ferdinand's jaw tightened, but he waited for Hubert to continue.

“I believe it indicates something was shoved roughly down her throat. With the right object, it could suffocate her. Another potential cause would be some agent to inflict vomiting, though her mouth doesn't contain evidence of that happening recently before death.”

“I see...”

In any case, it seemed a dismal thing to find inside such a pretty girl. If it were related to her death, it would be depressing in that manner, and if it weren't, it sounded like some dark secret Ferdinand did not wish to prescribe to her.

“What do you think?” Hubert asked again, once more seeming teasing than actually caring for whatever Ferdinand truly thought.

“Have you examined her stomach yet? That seems the logical next step.”

“And that was exactly what I was about to do.”

Without another word, Hubert began doing that. Ferdinand thought the whole affair was grisly. First, incisions were made on either sides of the organ in question, and Hubert pinched each end, presumably to keep its contents inside, as he carried it to a metal tray sitting atop another rolling table.

He set the stomach down, and either end drooled a yellowish bile. From his position feet away, Ferdinand could smell the stench. It was not unlike vomit.

Hubert continued to cut it open with a scalpel, and the stench only got stronger as the stomach unfurled around the incision and exposed itself to the open air.

“Would you like to see?” Hubert offered darkly.

Ferdinand would have liked not to, and he was certain that he would not like whatever there was to see, but he came here to do a specific job, and he would do it to the best of his ability. Without answering verbally, he rounded the table in order to peer over Hubert's right side and examine exactly what it was that Hubert aimed to show him.

It was half-digested food. Nothing more. Disgusting in its own right, though perhaps not worth the hesitation Ferdinand had granted it.

Hubert seemed to find the whole thing amusing.

“To my eye, it seems as though she'd only recently eaten. Her body was found this morning, so that helps us ascertain time of death.”

“Is not temperature used for that, as well?” Ferdinand had done his research before being thrust into this position, after all.

“That's right.” Hubert commended Ferdinand like one might commend a small child for washing their hands before a meal. “And yet the results are muddied by the fact she was found in the bath. The water was lukewarm when she was found, but if she'd warmed it, it could have kept her warm for longer. Just as cold water can sap the heat from a human body in an instant.”

Something about this explanation didn't sit right with Ferdinand, but he was not Neelthod's acting coroner. He remained quiet.

“In either case, it would seem the nature of her throat bruises would not induce vomiting. Perhaps your original hypothesis has some merit after all.”

At his sides, Ferdinand's fingers curled his hands into fists. Oh, how he hated the way Hubert spoke to him! He was no child, and Hubert was doing him no favors by adopting such a tone with him. And by the same token, there was not enough to take issue with to truly complain. Ferdinand could already tell such a remark would be met with the same cool sardonic wit that already made his hair stand on end.

“Do you know what a telling sign of asphyxiation is, Mr. von Aegir?”

“The hyoid bone, is it not? It is not a bone that breaks under any circumstance but suffocation.” He remembered that from his brief study into such a macabre art.

Hubert gave a hum. His hands busied themselves with drawing the remains of Ms. von Edmund's stomach together in order to dispose of it. Ferdinand did not watch him as he crossed the room to do so properly. He heard it slither into some sort of container with a visceral weight.

“That is a telling sign of suffocation. And completely not what I asked of you.”

“Pardon?”

“If you don't know,” Hubert's words were spoken slowly. He began removing his own gloves and folded them neatly, then walked back to Ms. von Edmund's side and pulled the sheet over the rest of her frozen body. “Then you don't know. Make use of yourself and put Ms. Marianne back in her locker. I think it's late enough to end this little investigation for the night, don't you?”

Ferdinand's brow furrowed once again, this time in anger. “W-what answer did you want of me, then?”

“You can find out. There's a library in town with plenty of books on any subject at all. Didn't you come here to learn, Ferdinand?”

“I came here to be taught! If you know something, you will tell me!”

Hubert only folded his arms. “If you don't help Ms. Marianne back to her locker, I'm going to retire to my room without showing you which I've reserved for you. Go ahead, now.”

Ferdinand grunted, but had no choice in the matter. This situation would be unbearable, he could already tell.

There was already a metal locker with a small paper card stuck into a cover on the front, upon which _Marianne von Edmund_ was written in a swooping, quickly-scrawled font. He opened it. Ferdinand didn't know the proper protocol here. It took him a moment to find the locker contained a tray that could be pulled out to fit the height of a full-grown man and then some. So he had to move Ms. von Edmund to it, then.

The entire time he struggled with the mechanics of this task, Hubert oversaw him with a small smirk and arms folded. He didn't have to say a single thing to give Ferdinand the impression that he was taunting him, and that fact bore into Ferdinand's skin, permeating him with a feeling of being distinctly separate from this town he'd found himself in. He was specifically called here, and yet he didn't feel like he belonged in the slightest.

There was a distinct weight to Ms. von Edmund. It wasn't as though he didn't know how much a human body typically weighed, but when it was completely without life, it was something different. A living person may have braced their arm against Ferdinand, shift so that carrying them wouldn't be such a cumbersome task. Ms. von Edmund was missing her arm on the side that might have supported herself.

She made a heavy sound on the locker tray when Ferdinand set her down. Reflexively, because he thought he may have been too rough with her, he apologized.

“I'm sure she doesn't mind,” Hubert commented. When Ferdinand looked up at him, his smirk was just _that _wider.

Without another word, Ms. von Edmund was tucked away inside the locker. Ferdinand began removing his gloves, then inspected his clothing for any lingering signs that he'd just moved an eviscerated corpse. He found no stains, so he quickly stepped to the other side of the room to retrieve his bags and give Hubert an expectant look.

Even with this hostile environment, he should still be thankful for having a room prepared for him, he reminded himself.

“Very well.” Hubert halfheartedly gestured for Ferdinand to follow him through the rest of the building.

It became quickly evident that, at least during this time of night, the autopsy room was the best lit portion of the building. As they walked through, it appeared as though not only was this used as the coroner's lab and offices, but also his residence. Once Hubert lead Ferdinand through a thin stairwell that seemed to have been some sort of secret, or at least a servant's passage in the past, the rest of the building held the framework of what Ferdinand's sensibilities equated with a lived-in home.

The only hesitation he made in such a declaration was due to the lack of decoration or furnishing. All the walls were white, and where they had not been painted, mere plaster stood proudly. Any room they passed seemed to contain the bare minimum of decoration, though Hubert lead him too quickly to allow a proper examination even given in passing.

It was the shape of a home, without any of the feeling of it, as though the building itself were some sort of specter.

Ferdinand decided that he would bring flowers to lighten the place up at his earliest convenience. Perhaps that corner-store sold some?

“Here.” Hubert's voice directed Ferdinand's attention from his cute little ideas and towards a small bedroom, as poorly lit as the rest of the house. It was small enough to be servants quarters, Ferdinand thought, and completely bare. He entered it and set his bags down. The only light source inside was the moon, still half-shrouded by fat clouds, and a small unlit oil lamp.

“Thank you, shall I see you in the morning?” 

Hubert didn't respond, and Ferdinand turned to see that he was gone.


	2. Last Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand begins to forge a routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really flattered by the response so far to this fic! Thank you to every one! <3

Sleep did not come easily to Ferdinand. When he thought he finally was able to drift away, he found himself in that small room once more, listening to the distant ticking of a very loud clock. The moonbeams slid across the room the night long, and in a way, Ferdinand watched their journey in intervals.

It felt as though the sunrise was sudden, and Ferdinand was unprepared for it. While normally a morning person, today he awoke with a bad taste in his mouth, and a stiffness to his neck that he accredited to simply sleeping in such an unknown place for the first time. Tonight would be much better, of course, and he was sure to fall into a happy routine in due time until his departure.

He dressed himself, brushed his hair, and had to find his way to the kitchen.

In the daytime, the house seemed entirely less labyrinthine. Though he was unfamiliar with its hallways still, he didn't have trouble navigating it. He felt rather chipper about it, actually. The sunlight granted him a confidence he lacked the night prior. Briefly, he considered apologizing for any perceived slight upon Hubert last night, and requesting a fresh start.

And then he found Hubert in the kitchen, raising a cup to his lips, with the unmistakable scent of coffee hanging in the air. His consideration left just as quickly.

“Good morning, Hubert,” he began politely. “I hope you slept well. What may I do for breakfast?”

Hubert had one leg crossed neatly over the other, and the hand that was not holding his mug was holding a small moleskin journal open. Ferdinand could assume he was reading it.

“You're on your own,” Hubert replied, without so much as sparing Ferdinand a single glance.

Ferdinand nodded. “So where may I find something to put together?”

That got Hubert's attention. He glanced up, offering that smirk that was growing more infuriating each time Ferdinand saw it anew. “There's no food in this building, unless you're a man of wicked urges.”

“P-pardon?”

“Miss Marianne remains downstairs. In theory --”

“No! Of course not!” Hubert chuckled darkly. Ferdinand was red in his frustration, hands curled into fists at his side. “How can you make such a wretched joke of things?! I will find my morning meal elsewhere. Do not make such offensive statements again!”

Hubert returned his gaze to that small notebook dismissively. Ferdinand did exactly as he said.

Though the sky was rather bright, it was still a miserably cloudy day. The skies over Neelthod seemed to love bringing rain. The streets were still slick from the rainfall the night before, and it seemed evident that it could start again at any moment. Ferdinand had brought his jacket to gird himself from the cold. However, though the temperature was suitable, and it seemed that sort of dismal day, there was absolutely no breeze in the air.

The odd thing about the town, as far as Ferdinand could tell (and perhaps the only odd thing) was that absolutely no one seemed to be outside.

Neelthod was not a small town. Its compact city planning implied a larger population, and an efficacy for housing them. It was the time of day, mid-morning, where Ferdinand would expect to run into all sorts of her citizens on their way to work or shopping. And yet, the streets were resoundingly empty. It was as if Ferdinand was the only man in town, though he knew that had to be false.

The thought stuck with him, however, and contributed to him ducking into the first building he could feasibly identify as a cafe. It was to good fortune, he decided, they must serve tea, and he could use a warm cup to soothe him. He'd have to see if Hubert kept any on hand, and if he didn't, obtain some on his own.

The scent of saw dust still lingered on the building. It was evident to him as he entered. The interior seemed woefully empty, as well. Aside from a waitress, who was leaning boredly over a counter, there was only one other person inside, who Ferdinand assumed was a customer, sitting facing the door, but with a newspaper obscuring their face.

He stood at the door for a bit, watching awkwardly as the waitress cleaned her nails, before deciding she probably wasn't going to seat him herself, and that he would have to do it on his own. He took a seat on the opposite side of the room from the other customer, and waited patiently. He didn't have a newspaper to keep him company, so he more or less stared at his hands, until some one cleared their voice to his left, and drew his attention.

“What do you want, stranger?” the waitress asked. She stared down the bridge of her nose at him. If her face wasn't curled into a look of mild disgust, it would be beautiful.

She had long brown hair that rolled across her shoulders in waves. Even through her unpleasant expression, Ferdinand had the distinct impression he was being evaluated by her green eyes.

Ferdinand met her glare with a sunny, yet apprehensive smile. “My good lady, I would like nothing more than a hearty breakfast and a cup of Seiros Tea.”

“We don't carry that,” she replied curtly.

“Then a fruit blend?”

“Yeah, sure.” Without another word, she left, presumably to fulfill his order, despite the vague way in which it was given. Ferdinand might have expected a request to what he considered hearty, or a discussion on how much it would cost and yet... None of that took place.

It left him with an odd feeling he tried to ignore as he went back to wishing he'd brought some sort of book with him.

Before he could think too long about it, some one was sliding into the seat across from him, smooth smile pinned to his face.

He was dressed cleanly, in what Ferdinand considered a smart tweed suit. His hair was neatly pushed out of his face. In those respects, he seemed like an average, well-maintained gentleman, until Ferdinand saw the single hoop piercing through his left ear, or his somewhat scruffy facial hair bordering the bottom of his face.

“Claude von Riegan,” he said, offering his hand across the table.

Ferdinand took it, smiling, and shook it. “Ferdinand von Aegir.”

“You're not from around here, either, huh?”

Ferdinand briefly glanced to the other side of the room. The newspaper had been folded neatly and set on top of the table. This would be the man who had been hiding behind it.

“Is it so obvious?” Ferdinand felt a little embarrassed to admit. It wasn't as though he particularly minded that he was from out of town, but it was an uncomfortable feeling to be reminded of it. Never before had he expected to experience an entire town that wanted nothing to do with him. He'd never felt anything like this.

“Don't worry about it,” Claude replied. “They seem to treat all outsiders the same. I'm getting the cold-shoulder too, everywhere I go.”

That it didn't seem to bother him either spoke to Claude's personality, or his ability to hide it.

“Arrive last night?”

“Erm... Yes, I did.”

Even if this friendly stranger wasn't acting with a fraction of the displeasure the waitress had, Ferdinand felt as though he was once again being scrutinized all the same. Still, he would try his best to reciprocate that friendliness, and do so politely. “I am interning with the medical examiner... It began last night, in fact.”

“An interesting position!” Something lit up in Claude's green eyes, and yet the smile he carried did not touch them. He shifted, now leaning across the table as though he was about to share a secret. “So, you've heard about Marianne.”

Ferdinand found himself swallowing dryly. This line of questioning could not be pleasant. To see Marianne herself had not been pleasant in the slightest. The last thing Ferdinand wanted to do was to speak about her... Especially in such a dismal state. “Yes... I have seen her, as well.”

Claude's expression didn't change. “How bad was it? You don't have to go into details.”

“I believe it's homicide. It looks like some type of asphyxiation. That's what the coroner suggested, at least. Her arm...”

“Go on.”

Suddenly he felt as though he shouldn't be talking about this. Was he allowed to? How much of the investigation was allowed to be spoken about, and how much was meant to be kept in discretion? Claude was from out of town, so he couldn't have been a constable. He could have been a friend of Miss von Edmund, or even a lover.

He would feel very bad explaining the way her stomach spilled onto a tray to a husband or wife.

“It was... Severed. Completely detached at the shoulder, surgically.”

Claude hummed. “Thanks. She was a friend of mine, and I've been trying to get answers, but it's hard when every one around gives you the stink eye. If you've got anything else, I wouldn't mind hearing that, either.”

“Not currently... I apologize.” Why was he apologizing?

He was torn between fearing Hubert would be cross with him for divulging as much as he did, or feeling confident that such a thing didn't matter to him.

“Hey, it's no problem. Just let me know if you do.”

Claude sat up for as long enough as it took him to look over his shoulder. The waitress was once again hunched over the counter, now painting her nails. Was she enough out of earshot? Claude seemed to think so.

“I want to know what's up with this place. Marianne wasn't the kind of person to just _get murdered_, you know?” His voice was low now, and any trace of his former smile was completely gone. “She kept to herself, was sweeter than pie, and didn't go out after dark. I'd like to know what kind of monster could take out a person like that.”

“Yes,” Ferdinand agreed, quietly. “I will do my best to see such a person brought to justice. I will do so personally, if I must.”

The smile returned to Claude's face. “Good to hear it!”

The door to the cafe opened again and another woman entered. She was wearing a pantsuit underneath a fur coat of an odd make to keep out the autumn chill. Her mulberry colored hair was pulled back into a high, thick ponytail, and she spared only the briefest of glances over at Claude and Ferdinand as she crossed the cafe.

“Petra!” the waitress cried gleefully. “Darling! I missed you so much!”

She skirted the counter to fall in an embrace with the woman named Petra, holding her arms out to avoid her painted nails, still shimmering wet, to stain anything. They pulled away enough to face each other, each woman with a wide grin on her face.

“I have been missing you, as well, Dorothea,” Petra replied. “But the hunt had great success! We will be leaving here sooner than we have been thinking!”

“Ssh, not so loud, Petra.” Dorothea delivered this comment just before turning another sour look at Ferdinand – and he could tell it was specifically for him, and not both he and Claude. “But that's wonderful. Every one made it home?”

“Yes! Caspar is taking care of the rest, so I am able to see you sooner in the day.”

Dorothea giggled, and hugged Petra once more.

Ferdinand made a point to stop looking, as it felt as though he was intruding on an intimate moment. He could still hear them, and he could see that Claude was not paying the same courtesy.

“Pleaaaase tell me you're staying a bit, Petra, I am _dying _of boredom and...” He imagined the pause was filled with whispered murmurs of her distaste for the two men currently sharing a table.

“I am coming here to see you more, so I will not leave just because I have seen you!” Petra's voice carried an air of laughter.

The two continued their chit-chat. At some point Petra pulled a chair up to the counter to better spend time with the brunette. Claude and Ferdinand had much less to speak about, but they both tried regardless for a reason Ferdinand couldn't divine. Perhaps it really was a lonely feeling, to be an outsider, and they were just looking for whatever scrap of companionship could be found.

Eventually, Ferdinand acquired his breakfast, and a cup of tea. The food was a little burnt, and the tea a little stale, but he did not assume either of these things to be done on purpose. He paid kindly, and bid Claude adieu once he'd finished eating. He could have sworn he caught Dorothea glaring daggers at his back as he exited.

The relative liveliness that had been forged inside the cafe only exacerbated the observation Ferdinand made on his way there before: that the town was completely dead on the streets. Petra had made it sound like this Caspar fellow would be providing a butchery with meat, or otherwise making preparations for winter, and yet there was no sign of that taking place, though Ferdinand would grant he had no idea where the butchery would be, and he was sure he hadn't seen it yet.

Then again, that was only reason to spend a bit more time walking the streets of Neelthod alone. Hubert hadn't informed him that he would be needed, or that they would perform any more steps of Marianne's autopsy so soon. He seemed like the type of person to have a steady plan, and he'd already displayed that he spoke his mind without reserve, so Ferdinand was confident that he wouldn't be needed for a bit longer.

Though taking a walk in the brisk air did familiarize him with the town's layout, he still did not see another soul in sight.

Each building seemed in good condition, and there were signs marking other businesses, if not painted names on windows. He passed the corner-store again, and also found a doctor's office, a watchmaker's, and a carpenter's. He passed a small, empty park, where a mist settled in between its trees and bestowed upon it the appearance of a graveyard. He stumbled upon the city square, with a wide cobblestone parkway allowing for whichever gathering might take place there, be it festival or rally, laid out before a larger building which a sign helpfully marked as city hall.

He imagined Mayor Edelgard von Hresvelg inside, dutifully attending to whatever required her attention, and working hard to keep the city in working order.

He also conjured excuses for being the only one outside on a day like this. It was gloomy, after all. He couldn't fault any one for preferring to stay at home, with a nice cup of tea if they enjoyed it, and while away the hours until a moment when the sun could break through the oppressive cloud cover above and smile upon them.

Such a thought put a smile back on his face, as well.

Eventually, Ferdinand made his way back to the coroner's office. He felt no shame in letting himself in, for as long as he would be staying there, and heard, before he saw, two people having a conversation inside the same examination room in which he had first met Ms. von Edmund.

“I don't have any logical explanation for it, Hubert,” an unknown voice said. “On a cellular level, it looked exactly the same as the rest of her tissue, despite the variances in...”

“This sort of thing doesn't just _happen_,” Hubert's voice chided. Though it contained none of the condescension Ferdinand had heard just earlier in the day. In fact, it sounded a bit urgent. “If you can't come up with an explanation better than _magic_, we're all doomed.”

“Well, we're all doomed,” the other replied blithely.

The conversation stopped as Ferdinand entered the room. Now he could see who Hubert was speaking to. He was a slender, pale man, with dark green hair that had half been pulled into a lazy bun while the rest spilled across his shoulders. He stared at Ferdinand not with the judging look he'd gotten from the waitress in the cafe, but with pure apathy. Though their conversation had sounded almost casual despite the odd things they spoke about, they were only feet away from Ms. von Edmund, who had once again been laid out on an examination table.

“Did you dispose of it as I asked?” Hubert asked. He'd paid Ferdinand a single glance in recognition of his presence, and now seemed entirely content to just ignore him for the rest of however long this discussion lasted.

“Well, I certainly didn't want it lying around,” the other man replied. “It's gone. When are you...?”

“I'll take care of her today.”

The man hummed, then shifted. One arm crossed his chest, while the other hand came to his chin in a thoughtful posture. “You know, she was a friend of mine, too.”

“Heh. Hardly. You annoyed her to the end of her days. I'm sure they'll be looking at you once I inform Lady Edelgard we consider this a murder.”

“You both know I'd never be able to stomach something so gruesome. And honestly, I'm offended you'd even joke of it. What I'm saying is that I'd at least like to know what happened as well.”

Hubert carried that smirk he seemd to always have. “As I've said, this is a murder investigation now. It will leave our hands the moment I let our dear mayor know. As far as I was aware, you cared little for people after they died. It isn't a good look.”

The other's brow furrowed into something of a glare. “That has nothing to do with anything. Marianne was – “

“I'm kidding,” Hubert interrupted. “You spent enough time with her that would be clear to anyone. I believe something else may be going on here, too.”

A sigh came from the green-haired gentleman. “Let me know if you need something else from me. I'll check my books again to see if I can find anything like this, but things may get busy before anything turns up.”

“Very well... We'll talk again.”

That was all that was needed for the other to leave. He didn't spare even so much as a second glance to Ferdinand, even though their shoulders nearly brushed as he made his exit. Ferdinand could hear the door shut as he left in earnest, and after that, Hubert began talking.

“Linhardt von Hevring,” he explained, “is the town physician. He never does much, but the little he does, he does extremely well. A pity talents are wasted on people such as he.”

“Was he looking into something for you?” Ferdinand asked.

With Marianne still lying on the table, he assumed that Hubert may ask him to begin another examination, or help him with something else. He had the motion in his head to cross the room and don a pair of gloves in order to fulfill that action, but he remained completely still.

“Astute.” Just as Hubert had said last night, though this time the word was spoken with a slight disdain. “Miss Marianne had some sort of... illness, let's say. I wanted the good doctor's opinion.”

And his opinion, Ferdinand thought, didn't seem of much use.

“We'll probably be seeing him again,” Hubert continued. “He's of a poor constitution and can barely handle the sight of blood, so if it isn't us having to fetch a corpse from his gurneys, it's some one having to close up a surgery he can no longer stomach. I hope you have a steady hand.”

“Why become a doctor then?”

“You don't do well with corpses. Why are you here, again?”

Ferdinand answered that question last night, but his answer hardly seemed applicable in the same way. It was much more likely Hubert wanted to end the discussion there and move onto the next thing, and Ferdinand was losing his patience with the man, so he would allow it without comment.

“We're disposing of Ms. Marianne today,” Hubert changed the subject deftly. He had already begun moving to fetch something from the other side of the room. “She's to be cremated, and unfortunately the town does not yet have a proper crematorium. So it's a fire we'll build out back.”

Hubert ended up fetching a white sheet, which he brought over to the corpse's side. “Help me wrap her body up in this.”

Without speaking, Ferdinand moved to grab a pair of gloves so that he could help, but Hubert stopped him.

“You don't need those,” he hissed.

Frowning, Ferdinand complied, though the care was obvious in how he touched or moved Ms. von Edmund and the sheet. He didn't particularly want to get his hands dirty, and she was in fact a corpse. They quickly got her shrouded without incident, and Hubert took her shoulders while Ferdinand took her ankles, and they carried her to the backyard.

Ferdinand mostly waited quietly. There was already a big pile of wood waiting for them, revealed once Hubert removed the tarp that had been stretched across it to keep it dry, but he had other things to pile on or tuck inside of it. The skies were just as gray as ever, and during this process Marianne laid peacefully on the grass.

“Let's move her on,” Hubert said once he was satisfied.

An empty feeling settled into the pit of Ferdinand's stomach as he helped Hubert place her atop what would be her funeral pyre. He stepped backwards afterwards, watching as Hubert continued preparing the fire. Oil was spilt atop her and the pile. He lit a match and tossed it in.

Ferdinand had wrongfully assumed that the lit match would set off a reaction that would instantaneously set the whole thing aflame. Instead, it caught the kindling first, slowly spreading from old newspaper to straw. The fire started from within the pile, and steadily spread outwards, licking at the bigger branches and logs and whatnot that consisted the rest of the pile.

Marianne's shroud caught fire easily, and soon it was her burning, as well.

Hubert moved to stand beside Ferdinand. His hands were folded behind his back, and he was transfixed on the fire just as Ferdinand was. Black smoke rose to the sky in dark tendrils, reaching towards the sky like ephemeral tentacles.

That was Marianne, too, the tendrils bringing her remains, and the ash they turned into, rising into the sky.

The two men stood in silence for awhile, side by side. Marianne burned in front of them, rising up to the heavens, where Ferdinand was convinced she belonged.

Hubert produced a pocket-watch from his vest, and checked the time. “I need to make a report to Lady Edelgard,” he said. “Make sure this doesn't get out of hand, and put it out when she's done.”

It wasn't a request. He left as Ferdinand stuttered out a confused remark without granting him so much as a glance back.

So Ferdinand was left watching her ascend in a streak of black smoke. And when she was finished, destroyed for the second time of her existence, Ferdinand suffocated the fire and returned inside.


	3. Eventide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity gets the better of Ferdinand, and it shakes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: this is the chapter where we finally have the horror creeping in. also, a house fire happens.

In the morning, Ferdinand followed the same path he forged the day before. He didn't bother to see Hubert first, expecting that he'd have nothing to offer but snide comments and dark humor. Rather, he dressed, he had breakfast at the cafe, and he made his way back to make sure that they didn't have any work to do today.

Ferdinand chided himself for being surprised that they did.

But he wordlessly joined Hubert at the examination table after donning gloves. He mostly followed Hubert's directions, though he didn't ask for much. There weren't as many questions as there had been when he helped examine Marianne, leading Ferdinand to believe that Hubert had already come to some conclusion before his assistance arrived.

The poor corpse today was a young man of twenty-four. There was no outward evidence of trauma. He was tall, muscular, and unmarred by any bruising or cuts. Hubert had instructed Ferdinand to examine his scalp for signs of blunt trauma, peering over his shoulder as Ferdinand sifted through the man's dawn-colored hair.

Without a clear conclusion to be drawn from a superficial examination, they cut him open.

It made Ferdinand a bit sick to see Hubert casually elbow deep in a human's torso, but he clenched his jaw and did his best to soldier through it. The two started splitting the work: Hubert would remove an organ, Ferdinand would weigh it, announce it, write it down, and dispose of it. In some way, this meant that Ferdinand spent more time with the viscera, but he didn't think much beyond not having to cut each thing separate.

When Sylvain Gautier was almost entirely hallowed out, Ferdinand assumed a large portion of their work was complete.

“What do you think, Hubert?” he asked.

Hubert shifted, pressing his knuckles into the underside of his chin thoughtfully. He didn't seem to care that blood from his gloves was now touching his face. Ferdinand shuddered.

“No trauma, no clear signs of infection or decay...” he began. “It's fascinating, don't you think? I would have expected another case like Miss Marianne, but nothing matches it up.”

“Did you expect serial killings?” Ferdinand's mouth was dry. This whole affair, working as the assistant to a medical examiner, just seemed so dreary and dismal in every aspect. He didn't much like this work at all.

Hubert glanced at Ferdinand. He had a slight smile, but it wasn't the same condescending smirk that Ferdinand had come to expect from him. Rather, he carried some unreadable look with something sparkling in his eyes. It was an oddly inviting, coming from Hubert. And because Ferdinand felt that way, it was unsettling in an entirely different way.

“Yes, actually,” he answered after a pause. “But we can hardly say this was a murder in the slightest... For now at least.”

“For now?”

“We can't rule out a poisoning, naturally.” He continued speaking as he unfolded his arms and began sifting through some of the sundry tools that populated the room. “We'll take some fluid samples and try running some tests... But for now I may have to rule simple cardiac arrest.”

Ferdinand felt the need to protest. “But he was physically fit. Could such a man's heart give out easily?”

“Not easily,” Hubert agreed. “But from a sufficient scare? Perhaps...”

He returned to Mr. Gautier's side with a sinister-looking syringe and a small glass container. Then, there was a knock on the door.

Hubert rolled his eyes. “Will you go tell our visitor to come back later?”

Ferdinand nodded. “Leave it to me.”

He was a little thankful for the reprieve. He only realized, once he had left the examination room, that he had been becoming a little light headed from the work. He had to massage the tension out of his brow and remind himself to un-clench his jaw. He only hoped he looked mildly presentable, despite the sullied apron he wore or the gloves...

He removed only one, so that he could open the door without staining that as well, and began to say that the coroner was busy and could not accept solicitors. He was interrupted through his first word.

“Hello there!” Claude von Riegan greeted with enthusiasm and that same easy smile he held when they'd first met. “Fancy meeting you here. I'm looking for Mr. Hubert von Vestra, is he in?”

“Well, we are in the middle of a --”

“It will just be a minute. I wouldn't want to impose, obviously, but my concerns are rather urgent.”

His eyes carried no trace of that smile he kept on his face, and yet they seemed to stare straight through Ferdinand. Perhaps this was because he was not the one Claude wanted to see – perhaps he was little more than an obstacle in whichever goal he was reaching towards. Ferdinand tried to make another protest, but Claude ended up stepping through the door regardless. A resigned Ferdinand shut it politely behind him, and lead Claude to the examination room.

“Thank you, my good man,” Claude said. “I'm sure you're both busy men, with everything happening, and I promise not to eat up too much of your time.”

“Of course...”

Hubert looked up from the corpse with an icy glare, directed at first Claude, then Ferdinand. “I told you no visitors.”

“I--” Ferdinand had no excuse, but he was reaching for one. Almost fortunately, Claude prevented him from finishing.

“It's my fault, I nearly bowled him over coming inside. You don't have to blame him, it's all me.” Even saying that, Claude kept a cool smile. “I have a few questions, if you'd be so kind, and I don't have a lot of time to ask them. I'd like to leave town as soon as possible, and your answers would help me do that.”

“Very well,” Hubert acquiesced. He took his sweet time in pausing what he'd been doing, removing his gloves, undoing his apron. His steps, Ferdinand could tell, were slower than they'd been during their investigation.

“We'll take a break,” he directed to Ferdinand. “This shouldn't take so long to keep Mr. Sylvain waiting, should it? Shall we leave him on the table?”

“I wouldn't know,” Claude said. “But he's not getting any deader, right?”

“...Right.”

Ferdinand decided he really didn't like dark humor.

“We'll sit in the kitchen. Do you like coffee, Mr...?”

“Claude von Riegan. I don't mind it, if you're offering.”

Without any indication that he meant to lead Claude there, Hubert exited the room. Claude followed. Ferdinand quickly tore off his gloves and folded his apron in order to follow as well, though he could hear Claude was already asking Hubert things as they walked down the hall.

“I figure you already got rid of Marianne's body,” he said. “What was the ruling, Mr. Coroner?”

“Homicide. Asphyxiation. Gruesome sight.”

Ferdinand took a quick pace in order to keep up with them.

“Did you know in asphyxiation, the blood vessels in the eyes pop and color the sclera with red flecks?”

Ferdinand's stomach churned. “Fascinating stuff!” Claude said. If it bothered him, Ferdinand couldn't see it in the way he moved, nor in his face. “So she was strangled?”

“I didn't say that...”

They entered the kitchen. Hubert had already made coffee this morning – the smell still lingered strongly in the air. He poured a cup for himself, then Claude. Ferdinand wasn't even offended that he didn't offer him a cup: he couldn't stand the stuff.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert began suddenly in the silence that was created in the act. “Go away.”

“E-excuse me?”

“Whatever we discuss, you don't need to be a part of it. Why don't you put Mr. Sylvain away, or take a walk?”

Ferdinand tried another question, but Hubert cut him off curtly. “Leave.”

The rudeness of it set a frown deep on Ferdinand's face, but he relented and exited the kitchen. He may as well put Mr. Gautier away and clean up the table while Hubert and Claude conversed. He could only hear a fraction of their conversation fading as he moved to another part of the building.

Claude had informed Hubert that Marianne had been his dear friend as well, and asked more about her body and what else the coroner had found. Ferdinand couldn't say he knew Hubert well, but he thought Hubert was giving short answers.

That begged the question: was there even something to hide?

As he heaved Mr. Gautier into the locker marked with his name and wiped down all the tools and surfaces Mr. Gautier touched, he considered it. He'd closed Marianne's eyes himself, so he hadn't noticed the sign of asphyxiation that Hubert had just described to Claude. But he'd determined some sort of suffocation as well. The bruising in her throat seemed to match that, though Hubert had mentioned it couldn't have been strangulation.

In Ferdinand's amateur opinion, Marianne had been suffocated by something being shoved violently down her mouth and throat. The likely murderer held her down as she was struggling, and then, once she had perished, cut off her arm for some reason.

Then again, Hubert had been speaking to the doctor over something. They had referred to “her”, after all. Could they have meant Marianne, or some one else? It seemed too coincidental to _not_ be about Miss von Edmund.

Ferdinand was about finished with the cleaning. The small glass container Hubert had earlier was now filled with a thick, dark red liquid Ferdinand could reasonably identify as Mr. Gautier's blood. If it was too be tested, it seemed reasonable that Hubert would hand that off to the town's doctor. In that case, it made sense whatever they spoke about with Marianne was probably some sort of investigation to rule out poisoning.

These answers satisfied him, and he'd thoroughly cleaned the examination room. He moved to go up the stairs, and perhaps while away the time in his room, but he could still hear Hubert and Claude talking, though their words were muffled through the walls.

It felt a bit intrusive to show his face again. Perhaps he could pass time another way?

He hadn't fully explored the entire house, and it wasn't yet familiar to him aside from the hallway connecting his given room, the kitchen, and the examination room in the lower level. Now seemed as good a time as ever to familiarize himself with it.

The lower level had the examination room and an office that seemed rather unused. It was neat and tidy but developing a thin layer of dust. When Ferdinand tried the light, it flickered to life with reluctance. There was a few cabinets which he could reasonably assume held files from past cases, and the desk sitting was clear aside from the dust. It seemed like a room one might spend hours writing or working in, but it also seemed Hubert didn't use it much at all.

There were other doors on the lower floor as well, though two of them lead to similar looking storage rooms. One was a messy affair, seemingly untouched for a long while, while the other was suspiciously empty.

And there was an oil lantern hanging on a hook on the wall.

The excuses Ferdinand could make for oddities only lasted so long, and nothing could entirely convince him this was something normal. His mind offered a variety of excuses: this was for if all the other lamps ran out of oil, or the electricity that powered the lower level stopped working; this was for if Hubert had to leave in a hurry in the middle of the night for some reason; or this was some sort of strange family heirloom Hubert had a fond connection with. None of these satisfied his curiosity.

While he considered it, there was something else he noticed. There was something of a seam running along the back wall, tracing its border with the adjacent walls, ceiling and floor. He pressed his fingers into it, and the wall shifted.

It was fake.

It was also difficult to manipulate, but he quickly learned that he could turn it slowly. It scraped on the floor and ceiling, making a tell-tale noise that was, while not loud, uncomfortable to hear. It set a paranoia in Ferdinand's heart that Hubert may find him moving this fake wall and discovering something that Hubert did not want him to, but his logic prevailed.

Hubert was still speaking with Claude in the kitchen.

The fake wall was some sort of plaster that Ferdinand propped on one of the real walls. It had been hiding a tunnel, carved in the earth and leading into inky blackness. A clear purpose was found for that odd lantern.

He warily glanced over his shoulder. Still no one was around to find him in this compromising situation, and he anticipated it would still be awhile still before Hubert and Claude concluded their meeting...

He took the lantern, lit it, and stepped in. He'd leave the wall uncovered, as there was still the chance this tunnel lead to some sort of dead end and Ferdinand would rather not have to shift the wall from the other side.

Once he'd stepped in, it seemed a good decision. The tunnel was small, just enough for one man to traverse. Though he was not claustrophobic, it gave him the distinct impression of suffocation, or of being trapped within. The light from the lantern couldn't possibly illuminate the entirety of the tunnel before him.

The darkness stretched out, almost beckoning him into its depths. It was at a slight decline, too. Though he couldn't tell by any measure how much, he knew he was making some sort of descent into the dark earth.

In the silence of the un-moving dark Ferdinand could swear he heard the sound of the earth shifting distantly. If not that, it was the groan of something else huge that lurked underground.

Before he realized it, his hands felt cold and clammy. The fingers curled tight around the lantern's handle curled tighter.

He continued down.

The thought struck him that he didn't have a solid measure of time here, either. The only thing that could change would be the amount of oil left in the lantern, and Ferdinand was certain he wouldn't notice until it flickered out entirely. That was no real comfort.

Eventually, though, the decline eased until the ground beneath his feet felt more level. He was no longer descending, but that didn't mean much to him at all until he saw a faint glow. Approaching it revealed it to be another lantern, hung up on the beams of a fortified crossroads in this tunnel.

The lantern must have been lit recently, for it to still be glowing as it was. Did Hubert come down here often?

Regardless, Ferdinand had a choice in front of him. The crossroads split into three distinct paths, not counting the way he had come. Left, straight, right, or return from whence he came...

Standing in the light given by two lanterns eased him slightly. His fingers grasped the lantern with less ferocity, and he had the fullness of mind now to realize that a cold sweat had gathered on the back of his neck. With one hand, he swiped his long hair to one side, one shoulder, to let it breathe.

To continue his investigation, he would have to return to this crossroads at least twice more, so it was a choice of which path he'd take first.

Distantly, he felt the world heave a sigh again. It was not a sensation he could easily ascribe words to in the slightest, but he was convinced it was coming from the leftest tunnel. Without much thought after that conclusion, he began walking down the right. This tunnel was more fortified than the other one. It was a little wider, with wooden beams supporting the frame, though the wood still smelt like saw dust.

Keeping a steady pace, it wasn't long before the lantern illuminating the crossroads no longer gave Ferdinand its glow. With its light, so faded Ferdinand's brief confidence, and unease once again set in. Though he could no longer hear whichever great beast helped the earth turn, he had the idea that it was somehow behind him.

A look around his shoulder confirmed there was nothing behind him but darkness.

“It is foolish,” he murmured to himself, to give the silent dark a sound that might help him keep his composure. “There is nothing there.”

And he said it to himself three more times, each moment that the barest thought there _may_ be something there struck him. “There is nothing there.”

It was foolish.

So there was no explanation for why Ferdinand braced his fingers so tightly around the lantern to prevent his hand from shaking. There was no clear reason for why he quickened his pace until he was all but sprinting down the tunnel.

Even when he could see the teasing light flowing down from somewhere above at the end of the corridor, he kept pace, feet pounding the dirt below.

The light from above shown down on a wooden ladder, leading to the top. Ferdinand spared another harried glance over his shoulder. The darkness he saw, lacking form or shape or figure, was no comfort. It didn't change the feeling he was being watched, nay, _chased_.

When he reached the ladder, he hooked one arm around it like a lifeline. Only in the thin streams of sunlight filtering down did he feel safe again. He turned off the lantern, set it down, and climbed the ladder quickly, though without the same sense of urgency that had set his heart beating so wildly in his chest.

_Foolish_. He chided himself the climb up, but was nevertheless thankful when he had pushed the grating that separated himself from the surface and could sit in that bright cloudiness that seemed typical for this town. He stayed there a moment, to catch his breath.

He needed a moment with nothing more than breathing and sitting. When his heart calmed, he pulled himself from the hole in the ground entirely and replaced the grating he had moved in his exit.

The fresh air seemed to ease his very soul. He took in deep breaths. Though the air was still eeriely still, it felt rejuvenating in a sense, and it was not something Ferdinand was soon to take for granted again.

He stretched his limbs. If the sun were out, he could truly bask in the feeling of being alive, but the skies were still gloomy and bright.

Now that he had his senses back, he could return to his original investigation. The tunnel carved from the coroner's lead to...

A single glance around him informed him that he was now in a graveyard.

The grate was hidden in a patch of ill-maintained grass. While most of the graves were rather well cared for, there were a few nearby that certainly were not, and the cemetery gates seemed far enough away that a person entering the normal way might not find anything odd about this little corner.

All of the headstones were on the modest side, rounded stone giving a name, dates, and occasionally an epitaph. Any of the stones he read held unfamiliar information that Ferdinand considered unimportant. Graveyards weren't typically pleasant places to spend time in, but after his worrying scare in the tunnel (that was highly unreasonable of him), he didn't much mind it in the slightest.

In the center of the cemetery sat a single mausoleum crafted of marble. Either it was relatively new, or it was very well taken-care-of. The name “Hresvelg” was carved proudly above the grated door.

Before Ferdinand had the mind to peer inside, it opened.

Out stepped a woman dressed mostly in black. Her gown was of some expensive make – Ferdinand could not identify exactly at this distance, but he knew the shape of fine tailoring when he saw it. It exposed her clavicle and shoulders, and she wore long gloves that covered the majority of her arms. Her skin contrasted sharply from the dress' dark color. She was not just pale, she almost seemed entirely white. The clouds in the sky held more shade than her skin. It seemed sickly. Was she alright?

She had dark blue hair that was pulled into some sort of up-do. It seemed complicated, but Ferdinand was lacking in knowledge when it came to ladies' haircuts. It framed her round face attractively.

She wasn't unattractive either. Already, she had something about her that Ferdinand liked. She passed over him with big blue eyes, staring impassively in his direction. He felt the need to introduce himself, and so he quickly stepped closer and offered a polite bow, as a true gentleman would.

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir, my lady. I am new in town. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!”

A slight smile spread on her lips. She closed the gate to the mausoleum behind her before folding her hands in front of him and offering Ferdinand a small bow that mimicked his own.

“My name is Byleth,” she said. “What brings you here?”

An embarrassed flush colored Ferdinand's face. Surely he could not just tell her that he more or less crawled out of the ground.

“I am... exploring the town in order to familiarize myself with it! I have no idea how long I will be staying in this temporary home, so it is best to know as much as I can!”

Byleth blinked slowly. “I see,” she said. “That's good, Ferdinand von Aegir.”

He barked out an awkward laugh. This was not the first time that some one made a joke of his entire name, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but his small smile turned awkward when it became evident that perhaps she wasn't joking.

“Ah. You may call me just Ferdinand, my lady. No need to be so formal, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Ferdinand.”

She still kept a smile. It was almost disarmingly childlike, in a way. Ferdinand found it easily charming.

She straightened her skirts out a bit. “I hope to see you again, Ferdinand,” she said, before she began walking past him and out the graveyard.

He supposed it was good fortune. She didn't see him emerge from the hidden tunnel, and this way he wouldn't have to worry about some one watching him crawl back inside. On the other hand... The terror he felt (for no reason, none the less!) inside that dark passage was enough to make him reconsider his options.

If he found his way back to the coroner's office from here, he may be seen carrying a lantern – an odd sight in a city in the day time, especially one with streetlights. There was always the chance of Hubert being mad that he'd done what he had, and going back through it would be the smarter action to avoid any such thing.

Logic triumphed. Ferdinand would rather risk his own poor constitution than whatever Hubert could dish out. Likely poisoning. He didn't seem very far above murder. Or worse, he might make good on that earlier jab about cannibalism and force Ferdinand to partake in something so horrifically grotesque.

He shivered as he descended back down the ladder.

The trip back was easier, mostly because Ferdinand kept humming to himself quietly and thinking of some things entirely removed from this foreboding passageway. For instance, he thought of Miss Byleth, and where a town like this might have been hiding her. Had she been in mourning for some one, dressed in all black as she was? She'd had no veil, but it wasn't impossible.

The mausoleum had carried the name Hresvelg. Perhaps she was a friend of the mayor, or her family, and they had recently lost some one? He could ask Hubert when he returned, provided Hubert wasn't sent into a rage over finding out Ferdinand had found this tunnel and stepped in.

The lantern at the crossroads was still lit, and Ferdinand found it easy to find the correct path to take. The other two remained, but he could come back another day, if he were feeling particularly brave. He'd feel better with some sort of weapon, or extra oil in case the lantern went out. He'd feel more comfortable if he had some one who knew where to look for him if he didn't return.

When he made it back to the false wall, he was relieved to find it still removed as he had set it. He replaced the lantern on the wall, blew it out, and tried to fit the wall back in as he'd found it. Once he was satisfied, he paused, listening.

He could not hear Claude and Hubert discussing anything, any longer. He could not hear anything but the shifting of the building.

Cautiously, he exited the small closet-like space. A cursory glance revealed Hubert was not in the lower levels, and nor was he upstairs when Ferdinand checked. He'd stepped out then?

Ferdinand's stomach growled.

He still hadn't had a good measure of time up to now. The cloudy skies didn't offer much information other than “still daytime”, and he didn't have a watch on him... That tunnel was long enough to take at least an hour, perhaps, though it felt much, much longer the first trip down.

It seemed like a good a time as any to find a meal. He left the office to head once more to the cafe. He was quickly becoming a regular there, even though the waitress still gave him a dirty look. Her girlfriend had been much more polite, but only in the way that Ferdinand knew she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she'd rather not speak to him either.

When he was there, they spoke to each other in hushed tones, turned away from him. If Ferdinand were the paranoid type, he would think they were gossiping about him. As far as he knew, they'd have nothing to say.

The question of how long it took him to traverse that cavern once again popped into mind as he walked to the cafe. The skies were darkening now, evening setting in. Another day passed, he mused. Three days in Neelthod and two corpses. He expected tomorrow they would burn Sylvain as they had burned Marianne, but with extra work to gather the amount of wood that helped Marianne ascend to the sky.

He never minded a bit of physical exertion like that. It would remind him of his physical form after that harrowing experience that was that odd tunnel trip. Hubert, though, seemed less of the type to enjoy it. He had pale skin (though in fairness, anyone in Neelthod would be lacking the sun to give them a healthy glow, if the weather was any indication of the norm) and those deep eyebags indicating a severe lack of sleep.

What kept him from sleeping? Ferdinand had to wonder. Without enough sleep, physical exercise would be much harder and strenuous.

He thought of checking the corner-store to see if they sold some sort of sleep aid to help Hubert, but then he remembered he had also intended to go there to buy flowers to decorate the coroner's office.

It had slipped his mind. He'd go tomorrow, if he had the time.

Dinner itself was uneventful. Once more, Ferdinand was the only customer in the cafe. How could they stay open, if the only business they got was from one out-of-towner that hadn't even arrived until just this week?

He'd just about finished his meal when a bell started ringing wildly in the street outside. He heard it move, and a single glance to the waitress confirmed that this was not an ordinary event. She was alert, seemingly waiting for some sort of answer to come to her.

Ferdinand knew the sound of that bell, though, and he let his curiosity get the best of him. He slammed money on the table and left to chase the bell down.

It was attached to a fire engine, barreling down the street as fast as it could. Just a block away, Ferdinand could see a building consumed in fire. The flames had completely taken over the building at this point, with black smoke billowing up towards the dark sky. The brightness of the blaze overpowered any streetlamp.

Like moths, the fire had attracted people out of their homes, or wherever they hid in the hours when they were busy staying off the streets. A small crowd had gathered around the burning building. A woman, dressed in crimson, was directing them to keep their distance. Ferdinand could hear her reminding them vocally, as well. Byleth was beside her, doing the same.

“Please, it isn't safe to get any closer. The firemen have just arrived!” she announced.

Ferdinand joined the crowd gathering. Said firemen were quick to get to work, mainly focusing on preventing the fire from spreading. Luckily, this house was removed enough from its neighbors that the other houses were safe, though black scars covered their sides from the smoke.

The crowd was gathered in a semi-circle around the scene, with the crimson clad woman and Miss Byleth guarding the perimeter. On _their_ side of the semi-circle, Ferdinand could see Hubert, hands folded behind his back, watching the fires.

He moved through the crowd to get closer to him, over the roar of the fire, it would be a poor idea to shout out from so far away, but he could tell that the two women keeping the crowd at bay had their eyes stuck fast to him.

“Hubert!” he called, once he believed there was a chance the other man would hear.

Indeed, Hubert turned to glance over his shoulder, carrying an unreadable expression. It was an unspoken recognition, an invitation for Ferdinand to continue.

Ferdinand decided he could ask later. He bit back his tongue, and almost knowingly, Hubert casually returned to watching the flames.

It took hours for the fires to die, or rather, be killed by the hard-working men sent to vanquish them. The crowd had not seemed to tire of watching such a tragedy, though it meant standing for so long in the cold night. The entire time, the two women spoke to those who had questions, though they were never loud enough for Ferdinand to hear himself. Hubert stood silently, silhouetted against the blaze in his black suit and stiff posture. He looked like some sort of ghost.

“Hey!”

Ferdinand was suddenly startled by a hand clasping on his shoulder from behind, and a voice too close to be comfortable to his ear. It was Claude.

“Came to watch, too?” he asked. It didn't seem as much a question, considering the facts, and he didn't give Ferdinand enough time to answer with even a single word. “You know who's house this is?”

Ferdinand shook his head. “N-no, I do not. I was going to ask...”

He looked back to Hubert, who had been so composed in the face of such a monstrous blaze, and was now just as casually standing in front of the blackened skeleton of a house that caught fire.

“Ask him, huh?” Claude supplicated. “Let me know if you find the cause of it. Inquiring minds and all that.”

He patted Ferdinand on the shoulder twice, and disappeared into the crowd as quick as he'd come out of it.

Once the fire was completely extinguished, many of the crowd left unceremoniously. The two women remained around, as did Hubert.

“The firemen have given the all clear signal,” the woman dressed in crimson told the crowd. Her clear voice carried easily on the crisp air. “Please, return to your homes. I assure you, we will find the cause of this disaster and take precautions to ensure the integrity of the rest of the town. Try to get some rest, friends.”

That seemed to satisfy the remaining stragglers. Every one present began moving to their respective destinations.

“Hubert,” the woman began again. “I'll be heading home and retiring myself. Get some rest. We will still hold the assembly tomorrow.”

“As you wish, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert gave her a deep bow. Mayor Edelgard then turned to Byleth, hooked their arms together, and began walking off.

Hubert turned to look at the cinder skeleton one last time, then began walking in the direction of the coroner's office again. He stopped, noticing Ferdinand.

“You're still here?”

When he wasn't condescending down to Ferdinand, there was some quality to his voice that Ferdinand could not describe. It felt odd, somehow, but it was not unpleasant either.

“I had something to ask. Shall we return together?”

“Very well...”

Now that the fire was gone, it felt as if the entire world was devoid of heat at all. The chilly air set Ferdinand shivering. Hubert seemed unfazed.

“The building that burned down...”

“It was the late Miss Marianne's home, yes,” Hubert murmured. “Gone and dead with the rest of her. It seems something wants nothing left of her, don't you think?”

“Do you suspect arson?”

“I am no investigator, Ferdinand. I'm sure some one will investigate in the morning and declare a reason for that blaze. Until then, all I have are... ideas.”

Ferdinand wasn't sure what that meant. He remained quiet, brow furrowed in thought.

“But you are a bit nosy, aren't you?”

“Pardon?”

The redhead turned to gauge Hubert's intent. He found the other smirking down at him again. “What is it you hope to find, anyway? I have a bit of an interest.”

“I...” What could he say? He had little reason for entering the tunnel except the intent to pass the time. There wasn't anything he expected to find, and the terror he'd experienced was not a suitable prize for his efforts at all. “I am sorry, then. I had no business there, and I do truly regret having stuck my nose in regardless.”

Hubert's smirk faded, and he faced forward again. Because of his hairstyle and how he combed it over one eye, Ferdinand could no longer see his expression as they walked side by side. So he faced forward as well, and tried to infer Hubert's opinion from his tone alone.

First, he chuckled. “Is that so? And what if I choose to believe you're merely apologizing in the same manner an animal shows its stomach in submission?”

“...That would assume I trust you not to bite,” Ferdinand countered. “And I do not have such weaknesses as an exposed stomach.”

“Hah. So you say.”

Ferdinand's tongue passed over his lips. He wasn't entirely sure what exchange took place between them, but he was wholly assured that Hubert knew very well that he'd found that secret passageway. Whether that would result in some unwanted consequences wouldn't be seen in this moment they shared, but it did not mean that it wasn't coming at all. He decided to prepare himself, to remain on his toes, but... Perhaps, as Hubert may taunt... Every one had to sleep eventually.

When Ferdinand finally settled into bed, sleep did take him easily. It must have been the exciting day, between the fire and the underground expedition, that wore him out so thoroughly. He hadn't realized his exhaustion until he was there, comfortably cocooned in his blanket.

But when sleep took him, it did not easily let go. He dreamed of black hands crushing his throat, and a million eyes watching him struggle against such a bind. He dreamed of undulating tentacles emerging from those dark catacombs, ensnaring his limbs and holding him down. He dreamed of something horrifically grotesque forcing its way violently past his lips and teeth, slithering down his mouth and pressing, pushing against him from within.

In the dream, he could not scream for the thing in his mouth was suffocating, and all he could see were eyes, and eyes, and eyes. They blinked out of order, and they did not move off of him.

He could not wake up until the morning sun came to rescue him by kissing his cheek through the crack in the curtains. He awoke in a fevered sweat, heart pounding, breath shallow. And he dressed.


	4. All Eyes All The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand has an eventful day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! this one ended up being the longest so far for no real reason! i think this fic is going to be 8 or 9 chapters, so we're almost halfway there!
> 
> thank you all again for the kind words i've gotten from this fic! it's really encouraging me to write. we're almost halfway to the 50k! thank you!!
> 
> also, if you'd like to chat with me about casphardt or this fic or anything, you can find me on twitter [@hardkourparcore](http://twitter.com/hardkourparcore)!

Despite sleeping the whole night long, Ferdinand did not feel refreshed in the slightest. In the corner of his eyes, he swore he could still see the terror from that nightmare, though he wasn't even sure if he could remember it accurately. As many dreams fade from memory upon waking, so did his, though the shadows in his periphery felt like a primal fear he couldn't quite forget.

He sought out Hubert before completely combing his hair, taking care of the steps to the kitchen and some of the brushing in one action. It wasn't out of a desire to see Hubert – Ferdinand would rather see anyone else in town, including the taciturn waitress. Instead, it was more of the idea that another human's presence could remind him that the waking world was tangible, and that nightmares held no purchase here.

He was surprised to find, upon reaching the kitchen, that Hubert was actually cooking.

“You cook?” The question had to be made.

Hubert glanced at Ferdinand over his shoulder. There was an unspoken question in response, but Ferdinand could not decipher it enough to understand and sufficiently answer.

“Lady Edelgard has called for an assembly today. As you'd know, if you'd read the paper.”

Ah. Ferdinand had not read the paper. His face heated, embarrassed. “And as you know, I am new in town. What happens at an assembly?”

Hubert did not answer at first. He manipulated something that Ferdinand couldn't see. He'd been cooking the duration of their conversation still, and perhaps he was finished. Ferdinand could only tell once he'd turned with two plates stacked with pancakes.

“Why not attend and find out?” Hubert responded cheekily, putting both plates on the table. With a wave of his hand, he directed Ferdinand to sit down.

“...You made this for me.”

Ferdinand's face remained red, though it felt as though it were borne of something different than his prior embarrassment. As abrasive as Hubert could be, this was still a stranger going out of their way to make a meal for Ferdinand that he didn't ask for, and Ferdinand was still a hopeless romantic at heart.

“On assembly days the town is usually dead. No businesses open, no work is done. Consider it like a church day. Go to the assembly, that's all you're asked to do today.”

Without much else, Hubert began eating his share of the breakfast, quietly. Ferdinand's gaze landed upon a small shaker full of white powder sitting on the table. In fact, the table had already seemed to be set in advance. He found a fork and knife within his reach, a folded napkin to the side...

He gestured to the small shaker. “Is that powdered sugar?”

“It could also be cocaine.”

Ferdinand stopped midway in reaching for it. “That... means it is powdered sugar, correct?”

Hubert spared him a small glare, but didn't give another verbal response.

Ferdinand risked it. It was indeed powdered sugar.

“I did not thank you, Hubert. This is a nice breakfast. You have my thanks. It could only be improved with a spot of tea.”

Hubert hummed around a sip of coffee in response. He had poured Ferdinand a glass of water, but it could never best the comforting warmth of the morning's first tea.

While Hubert seemed content to eat in silence, Ferdinand was not. To be friendly, he brought forth a question that their earlier dialogue placed in his head: “So, what about Sundays? Do people not attend church?”

“There is no church or cathedral in town,” Hubert answered. Ferdinand at least couldn't perceive any reluctance in his tone of voice. “Lady Edelgard believes faith is a deeply personal thing. No sermons are held, but people are free to practice as they please.”

“Typically, those who revere the Goddess would hold church. So that must mean no one in town believes in Her?”

“We don't have time to waste on taking such trivial censuses, Ferdinand.” He offered the other a cold look, but it still wasn't quite a glare. If anything, a warning of wavering patience at worst. Ferdinand supposed that was fine. He still had to wonder when and if Hubert would retaliate for him snooping in that tunnel.

“I can tell you Ms. Marianne was a believer of the Goddess that is ever so popular in Fódlan, but not much more. If any one else believes, it's their business. Not mine.”

“I see.”

Ferdinand's brow furrowed, and Hubert again fell silent. He didn't know how to continue the conversation. Their meal continued in silence for a moment longer.

Hubert broke their pause with a sigh. “Neelthod is a town founded by Lady Edelgard for one purpose. She wants to eke out a society where people are fit to live as they please without any pressure dictating how they need to act or what they need to do. This is a place where the woman owning the corner-store is free to stay in her home as long as she pleases, or the nobleman running away from his family has no social obligation to continue his bloodline.

“You can think of it as an experiment, if you'd like. Lady Edelgard plans to start here before spreading her influence wherever she can.”

“But would that not just result in a society under her rule, as... nice as it may sound?”

“At first she planned to step down once she made a widespread change. She would hand-pick some one suitable to oversee things in her stead, implementing rule on a small enough level so that no single power-monger could destroy her hard work.” He took another sip of his coffee. “That was before Ms. Byleth showed up. I think her plans are shifting, but my devotion to her has not.”

“I am unsure what sort of devotion the coroner owes to the mayor, admittedly.”

Hubert brought the lull in the conversation back. Ferdinand couldn't blame him. No matter how odd the arrangement of the town (and every one in it, as well, Ferdinand included), questioning one's devotion was a personal affair. Ferdinand was not entitled to an answer.

His mind supplied one anyway, in the silence between them. His romantic side was running away with the idea that Hubert held deep affections for his mayor, whose heart was ensnared by some one else, so he put his love elsewhere in caring for her, though she would never realize.

As if to break his childish fantasy, and as though Hubert knew exactly what it was, he offered the briefest of explanations. “We owe each other a great deal, and I have been sworn to serve her. That is all. Do _not_ get any ideas.”

“Ah, I would never!” Though Ferdinand was still blushing.

“And you. Lady Edelgard has confirmed that she did send for your services. I don't have to ask you why, but I wonder... Do you know yourself?”

“It was an agreement between my father and she,” he replied. Admittedly, it was much easier to speak of himself than the rest of the conversation had been. “He still holds hope against hope that I may become a doctor, though I have little love for the work. No disrespect meant to you or Mr. Hevring, of course. I would merely spend my time following in my father's footsteps as a leader and politician in my own right.”

“And how closely will you follow him, I wonder?”

Perhaps Hubert meant it as a hypothetical question. It was one that had been posed to Ferdinand many times, whenever he mentioned his future designs.

His father was a crooked man. He was greedy, and cared little for the public he was meant to be serving. Instead, he took whatever he could get and paraded it in a display of wealth. He hurt not only the citizens he governed, but his peers, and even some above him. Ferdinand knew not the extent of his crimes, but he held the utmost conviction that his father's ill-doing was wrong in every conceivable way, and the easiest way to clean up a mess – to right his wrongs – was to follow closely behind.

“I do not like your tone,” he began. “I do not agree with many of the things my father has done, and should I become a doctor as he wishes of me, I will not have the opportunity to fix them. Nor will I have the chance to punish him appropriately.”

Hubert chuckled.

“Do not mock me!”

“You misunderstand. It's just surprising. That's all.”

“What is surprising?”

Hubert didn't answer. Infuriating.

The coroner had finished his meal and silently began cleaning his plate and setting things away. He took Ferdinand's too, wordlessly, when he had finished. There wasn't exactly anything uncomfortable about sitting silently in the kitchen while Hubert cleaned, but it wasn't a comfortable silence either. Ferdinand had to wonder what had made Hubert laugh, and if it were a good thing or a bad thing.

At the same time, he felt as though they understood each other a bit better as well. It was odd. To think he might get along so well with a creepy coroner who joked about cannibalism! Surely, Ferdinand von Aegir was above such company...

“Assemblies take place just before lunchtime.” Hubert's voice drew Ferdinand from his sulking, at least. “I'll lead you there.”

“How often are they?”

“As the mayor sees fit. Typically, she also arranges for lunch to be served to all who attend.”

“It is something of a celebration, then?”

Something dark clouded Hubert's gaze, and he glanced away. “Perhaps.”

Was he troubled? Ferdinand couldn't say that he was especially cognizant of Hubert's intention or feelings, but there seemed something he was hiding that wasn't just out of a cold condescension towards him. He had the look of a man struggling with something internally, and was apprehensive to allow any one to know what it was until he solved it on his own.

And yet, the existence of these assemblies, or rather the other aspect to them seemed contradictory. If Edelgard decreed her town must come to any assembly when it was announced, and went out of her way to provide food for them, it seemed as though it was bound to create a more cohesive community. Ferdinand knew from experience that attending church could easily bring a group of people to regard each other as acquaintances, if not friends. If Hubert was so bothered by something, and he'd lived alongside Edelgard this entire time, surely there was some one he could share his worries with.

Would Edelgard be receptive? He said he dedicated himself to her, so he must wholly trust her. ...Unless the problem was with her?

Then again, Ferdinand might have only been conjuring some sort of gossip mill in his mind. He left the question be. This was a good experience, today, and he didn't want to continue with a poor relationship to Hubert, at least until it was time for him to leave.

The skies were just as cloudy as they had been the days prior, and the wind just as still. As they walked through the streets, Ferdinand thought it might do to make conversation to pass the time.

“Is it always this dismal?” Ferdinand asked. “I have only been here a few days and I find myself missing the sun's warmth.”

“It hasn't always been,” Hubert answered. “But it is curious, don't you think? The clouds never seem to move at all.”

At all? Ferdinand looked up. They were thick enough that he wasn't certain he would be able to discern if they were moving or not. There was no point of reference to see them move against, after all.

“That is just because they cover the whole sky.” He said it like he wanted to convince himself, as well.

“Oh, sure.” Hubert's remark seemed a bit more biting than it should have been, were this just a civil conversation between friends. “And yet they spill rain and don't seem any lighter for it. It threatens rain day after day, delivers some, and never clears.”

Ferdinand offered a bit of a smile. “You are missing the sun, too, then.”

Hubert scoffed.

The assembly, Ferdinand learned, would be held in the town square. A temporary stage was erected on the cobblestone. People had already begun to gather, filling in front of it like an audience. It seemed a very casual affair. If the mayor were to take the stage, Ferdinand would expect an entourage of policemen waiting or accompanying her. Yet, any man or women who was dressed in uniform seemed more a part of the crowd.

“You wait here,” Hubert said. He didn't really give much more of a warning, nor even spare another glance to Ferdinand, before he walked off towards the mayor's building.

It made sense that he might see Lady Edelgard before she showed up – Ferdinand could not see her bright crimson suit coat among the crowd. So he would just stand out under the heavy clouds with the others.

He watched them again, to see if they moved. Hubert didn't seem to be the sort of person to be so upset with the weather. Could a man really take offense to a few too many cloudy days, and not care enough to know which of his neighbors believed in the Goddess? It was very strange to Ferdinand.

“Whatcha watching, friend?”

Claude appeared at his shoulder again, but this time Ferdinand was not startled.

“Aww, thought I could go two-for-two,” he said. There was that easy smile. He offered a wink. “Anyway, any idea what this assembly is all about?”

“Hubert has told me a little, but I am still unsure.”

“Tell me, then.”

Ferdinand kept his explanation brief, but tried to relay the same amount of information that Hubert had given him. When he'd finished, Claude just nodded in acknowledgment.

“And what do you think of all this? Every other town I've been in was ga-ga for the Goddess. I'll admit, something new is a bit refreshing, but I figure it's strange for Fódlan.”

“Yes, it is unorthodox. But if it what is best for the community, I cannot find much issue with it.”

Claude laughed. “Surprising, for a city boy. Thinking of settling down here?”

“No.” Ferdinand's answer came quickly, almost like a reaction originating deep in his stomach. “I do not think I could live here long term.”

Something about his nightmare, or the tunnel, or the graveyard, deeply unsettled him. He didn't want those things to become his normal.

“Yeah, me neither. I'm too much of a fan of the sun, you know?”

Had he been eavesdropping?

Ferdinand didn't get the chance to ask him. The crowd around them began quieting itself as Mayor Edelgard took to the stage. Miss Byleth walked behind her on her left, and Hubert on her right. Ferdinand had to wonder again of the two women's connection. Was Byleth as devoted to her as Hubert? Or was she just the mayor's lover, and allowed the prestige of staying at her side out of that trust, instead?

Distantly, Ferdinand couldn't keep himself from wondering if the reason Edelgard set up a stage to address the crowd was due to her petite stature.

She cut an imposing figure despite it, with how she carried herself. Her white hair was pulled tightly into a neat bun, and her crimson petticoat stood out starkly against the gray skies, definitely more-so than it had last night. She held a determined gaze.

As he noticed before, not a single policeman had joined her on stage, nor stood nearby. Whether this meant a different role in the constabulary here or a deep trust in her citizens, Ferdinand could not say, and he didn't have much more time to consider this fact before Edelgard began speaking.

“Good afternoon, friends,” she greeted them. She could certainly project her voice clearly, though in this sort of weather that sort of thing would be easy. “I am glad to see you today. We did not have much to discuss today until new circumstances arose, but I will save those for last.

“As you know, we have recently lost many of our dear community members. This has been a tragedy, and I too have felt their deaths just as strongly as any of you may have. I would like to give a moment of silence on their behalf. Sylvain Jose Gautier, Marianne von Edmund, and Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, we will carry you in our hearts. Rest comfortably, friends.”

She bowed her head to begin the promised moment of silence, and the crowd was still. Byleth took a couple steps forward on the stage, her boots thudding gently against the wood. Ferdinand could see Hubert watching her, but aside from those careful steps, no one else made a sound.

Dimitri Blaiddyd... If he was such a recent death to be lumped in alongside the other two, where was his body? It seemed like another question for Hubert that Ferdinand wasn't enthusiastic to attempt. Although if anyone knew how a person died, it would be the town's coroner. Or maybe the doctor? He didn't know anything about Mr. Hevring, but surely he'd be easier to approach than Hubert. Anyone would be.

“Thank you,” Edelgard said once she decided the moment was over. Perhaps she counted. Ferdinand felt a bit guilty for not offering his thoughts or prayers to the deceased, though he was offering his time and respect to Mr. Gautier and Ms. von Edmund in other ways, at least.

“I know this must be a scary time for you all. With so many good people dying senselessly, I would not blame you for growing paranoid or worried at the state of our city. However, I want to assure you that the constabulary is taking precautions to protect you from harm.

“I would also like to offer a formal invitation to any seeking solace, whether in mourning or in fear, to reach out to me personally. I will be scheduling small group meetings in my home so that I can meet you as not your mayor, but a friend, who is also grieving in these trying times. Now, more than ever, we need to come together and help one another with anything our neighbors may need of us.

“That said, I also bring you news regarding the deaths of our friends... It is no secret that last night, Miss Marianne von Edmund's home burnt down in a terrible blaze. We have reason to suspect this act was arson.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd quickly. The burning of her house had been an event in itself.

Edelgard ignored the small commotion and continued. “Furthermore, her death has been ruled a homicide, and though our main suspect has eluded justice, we will now be making a public arrest.”

The murmurs grew louder. He could almost hear Edelgard call out his name as he became a scapegoat for something, though such paranoia was new to his thoughts.

At the edge of the crowds, he could see men dressed in uniform, primed to be making the promised arrest.

“I accuse you of the murder of Marianne von Edmund, and the dangerous destruction of her property.” Edelgard's commanding voice boomed above the growing din of the crowd. “Claude von Riegan!”

“What?!” Claude hissed beside Ferdinand. He didn't say anything more before bolting from the crowd. He stumbled past the arms of two policemen attempting to detain him.

“After him! We cannot risk him repeating his crimes!” Edelgard shouted.

So many people began moving at once, and Ferdinand found himself running too. Not for one moment did he believe Claude was truly guilty, and yet he pursued him, feet pounding the cobblestone paved streets in heavy strides. He wasn't the only one. Aside from the constabulary, several other citizens had taken to pursuit as well, though he doubted any of them had the same idea as he.

Claude said he had been her friend, and he'd visited Hubert just yesterday probably looking for answers as to why she died.

...Was Hubert responsible for this?

He didn't have time to think of it now. Heart pounding in between his ears, Ferdinand's only aim was to reach Claude before any one else could. That would be easier said than done, as he'd already lost sight of him...

That meant the other pursuers lost sight of him, too, but Ferdinand already knew he had different plans in mind. All he could do was try taking a turn, or ducking into an alleyway in search of Claude. He did just that, ducking behind the corner-store, already winded from his previous running.

A hand grabbed his arm, and he jumped.

“Shh!”

It was Claude, pressing his index finger to his lips. “You're not here to arrest me, right? Because if you are, I'm going to punch you hard enough to knock you flat.”

“N-no,” Ferdinand breathed. “No. I cannot believe you are guilty.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, now get out of here before you give away where I'm hiding. I need to get out of town.”

For once, Claude was lacking that signature smile of his. Ferdinand couldn't help feel for him. They were both outsiders, as he'd said before. Due to that, he felt a small obligation to help.

“I... have a better idea. The graveyard. There is a place you can hide. I will show you.”

Claude nodded. “I don't really have another choice. Let's see it.”

Ferdinand paused. He wanted a moment to catch his breath, but without warning, Claude tore himself from the alleyway and began running in the direction of the graveyard.

“W-wait!” he called. Claude didn't so much as look behind him.

He had no choice but to sprint after him a second time. Claude had a fair lead on him, and no matter how fast Ferdinand thought he was running, he didn't seem to be able to close the distance between them...

He could hear shouting, too. They must have been spotted by the others looking for Claude, and to them, it would look like...

It would look like Ferdinand was in hot pursuit of Claude, closer than any one else had gotten, and not like he was assisting in Claude's escape. Maybe that was Claude's intention.

He only slowed upon reaching the graveyard, and waited for Ferdinand with movement still wired in his frame. They didn't have any time to waste. The others would have seen them run in the direction of the graveyard, if not enter it themselves, and they didn't have enough time to catch their breaths without risking being caught.

“Where is it?” Claude was winded too. “The mausoleum doesn't have an exit, and I wouldn't know how to break in.”

“No, not that.”

Ferdinand was exhausted, but he still managed to stumble to the grate where he'd emerged from yesterday. “In here,” he directed. His lungs ached in protest, but he heaved the grating off and gestured to the hole.

“When did you find this?” Claude asked. He still began climbing downwards. Without much thought, Ferdinand followed him in.

“It is a series of tunnels. One leads to the coroner's office. There are others I have not explored, too. Perhaps there is a way out of town.”

Claude jumped off before the bottom few rungs and began rustling around in his suit for something. “Good find! I owe you one for this.” He pulled out a small matchbook, flipped it open with his thumb, and began wriggling one free to light.

“I'll check it out,” he continued. “Or at least hide out until the heat's off. You need to get back up there.”

“What?” Ferdinand was already halfway down the ladder.

“Yep! If they get to the graveyard and no one's there, then you come crawling out of a hole, we're done for. Get up there, catch your breath, and tell them I ran into the spooky woods or something.”

“You... That is a sound plan.”

“Don't I know it! Go on, hurry. I'm going to check out this thing and maybe I'll see you around later. Take care, okay?”

Ferdinand watched only long enough to see Claude toss him a wink over his shoulder, before using his lit match to illuminate the way as he began moving through the tunnel. Ferdinand scrambled back up the ladder with a renewed sense of urgency, and covered the hole once again.

He was exhausted. He had to wonder how Claude was faring as well. He moved away from the hole to be safe, deciding to prop himself against the outer wall of the mausoleum to rest, breathing heavily and staring out into those “spooky woods”.

It just seemed like a regular forest to Ferdinand.

“Hey!”

He barely got a moments rest before some one showed up. Claude had been right on the nose again. Ferdinand was just glad he'd moved away from the hole, and seemed to be caught, too exhausted to continue.

The man that approached him was also winded, though kept up a jog to reach Ferdinand's side. He was clearly built, with broad shoulders and muscular arms that seemed more contained by his shirt than covered. He had short sky-blue hair, combed to one side and almost shaved on the other.

“Didya get him?” he asked. He was winded as well, and stuck his hand on the mausoleum wall to prop himself up while he rested, too.

“He...”

Ferdinand did not like lying in the slightest. He raised a finger to weakly point at the woods.

“Ah... He ran off into the woods, huh?”

Ferdinand nodded lamely. He really didn't like lying, even as minimal as this one was, even though it was keeping Claude safe.

The thought crossed his mind again: what if Claude really was guilty? Did he just aid a murderer?

No... He couldn't keep thinking that way. It was done now, and there were other things to do. He still felt a little guilty for not warning Claude about the fear he felt in that tunnel. Hopefully, it was just Ferdinand's nerves, and Claude wouldn't notice it at all.

“Well, good work chasing him anyway,” the other man continued with a smile. “You got closer than the rest of us.”

He stuck out his right hand, the one he wasn't using to lean on the mausoleum. “I'm Caspar. You're the new guy, right?”

“Yes,” Ferdinand replied. He took Caspar's hand and shook it politely. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir.”

“Nice to meet ya!” Caspar returned the shake heartily. It was enthusiastic, if not a little clumsy.

He was certainly sunnier than the other locals Ferdinand had met.

“Shame that the other out-of-towner ended up like that!” Caspar folded his arms, glaring in the direction of the woods. He seemed to be considering something. “Wanna try and catch him in the woods with me?”

“I do not think he would be easily found,” Ferdinand replied. “And he has already had quite the head-start.”

“But I can't just stand around while there could be a murderer off and... Maybe murdering more!”

“And you cannot just rush into these things either... Edelgard accused him of murder, but that does not mean he is responsible for Ms. von Edmund's death. We need to take caution that an innocent man is not unjustly put away.”

“Huh.” Caspar folded his arms. “You think so? Even after you chased him all the way here?”

The relative quiet of the graveyard was broken mid-way through their conversation, as others who had chased after Claude arrived.

“Ugh, these guys,” Caspar groaned. “They're not gonna let me just...” He trailed off into grumbling.

“I'll tell them he ran off into the woods. Edelgard'll probably put out a manhunt or something. Maybe I'll see you there, since you seem pretty good at this.”

He offered an amiable smile at least, and patted Ferdinand on the shoulder a bit too roughly.

“Yes...” Ferdinand replied. “Maybe.”

Between his lack of sleep the night prior, and all the excitement, Ferdinand felt too exhausted to fully enjoy the feast that the mayor did in fact arrange for the assembly. He thought it was a nice gesture, that if she had to ask something of her town she at least compensated them.

He joined them for lunch, of course, but most of the townspeople ignored him, or glared at him if he caught their gazes. Even if he'd done anything impressive in their eyes by seeing the moment their fugitive slipped off into the forest, it had done little to improve their opinions of him.

Hubert avoided him the entire time. He was Edelgard's shadow, looming over her right shoulder throughout the event.

Without any one to speak to, Ferdinand had little reason to stick around the entire time. He excused himself early, leaving the mayor's house alone.

It was only just after lunch, now, and it felt as though his day was already eventful enough to go to sleep. On one hand, a nap could easily be made, but it also felt like a waste of time. And after last night, Ferdinand didn't particularly want to attempt another dream.

Exploring town was a great waste of time the first time, so he thought he might try it again. At the very least, something had changed, and Ferdinand carried a small curiosity towards it.

The black ruins of Marianne von Edmund's house stood starkly against the bright and cloudy sky. The dismal nature of the weather juxtaposed on the charred remains seemed to exacerbate the gloomy air of the town itself.

Ferdinand was not alone in his curiosity, it seemed. Two men had beat him to the scene of last night's fire, and were currently standing outside the ruins chatting. Ferdinand could only hear them as he drew closer.

“So, what would we look for?” Caspar asked.

“Well, I don't know what makes something arson or not,” Linhardt replied. “But anything that isn't completely burnt to ash seems like a good start.”

Ferdinand's exhaustion betrayed him. He tripped over the threshold between Miss von Edmund's lawn and the sidewalk, though he managed to catch himself, all his weight came heavily down on one leg with an audible _thud _and garnered the attention of the two men discussing the ruined house before them.

“It's rude to eavesdrop,” Linhardt called. His arms were crossed, and like when they'd met, he carried a half-lidded gaze that seemed more sleepy than bored.

“My apologies,” Ferdinand offered.

“It doesn't matter _now_.”

Linhardt turned back to the house, as though he was considering something, and stepped into the ruins. This required stepping over the remains of the front door. “C'mon, Caspar. You too, Ferdinand, if you want. Otherwise, don't be a narc.”

Ferdinand felt his face heating up. He watched Caspar follow Linhardt into the skeletal remains of Marianne's house.

“Hey, he's helping Hubert with autopsies, right?” Caspar asked Linhardt, as though Ferdinand weren't still within earshot. It seemed as though that while he may have been one of the friendliest people in town, he wasn't exactly polite, either.

Linhardt replied with the same amount of etiquette. “Yes, I saw him there the other night. If you're thinking he'd know what would prove an arson case, I doubt it. Medical examiners just investigate the body itself.”

He didn't wait much longer before he joined the other two men in entering the home's remains. He wondered briefly if it were trespassing if there was no real current owner, or if that became a crime against the city itself and not the proprietor.

While most of the house had been stained entirely black by the fire, some walls were still standing. The front ones weren't, but some walls between rooms held their integrity. From only stepping inside, Ferdinand couldn't see clear to the back of the house. Some nearby rooms even had their doors in tact and closed. To their left, the staircase stood, still, and there was enough of a ceiling that it seemed the second floor could still be accessible to some one who dared enough to test its strength.

Neither Linhardt nor Caspar seemed to make much of a deal of Ferdinand joining them, at least. Linhardt offered a nod and a small, sly smile, while Caspar was busy looking around the floor to see if he could find something.

“So who's going to try the stairs?” Linhardt asked. “Before you say anything, Caspar, I don't think either of us wants _you_ to get the broken leg, if the second floor buckles.”

“I definitely don't want you to get the broken leg either! You'll just complain the whole time and make me get you stuff.”

“So how would it be any different than me now?”

“Hah. Got me there.”

“...It doesn't matter. We can decide after we check out everything else. I'll look that way.” Linhardt raised an index finger and pointed lazily towards the back of the house. “Caspar, you look that way.” His arm moved to point his finger to his left. “And Ferdinand? Look around here and there.”

“You do not know what we are searching for, too?” Ferdinand asked.

Linhardt sighed. “The fire didn't destroy everything. As you can see. If there's an easy way to find a cause of the fire, or something that might explain how she died, I think it's well worth looking into.”

“She was a friend of yours, was she not?”

“Oh yeah! They were besties!” Caspar interjected. He was already walking to the side of the house Linhardt assigned him. Likewise, Linhardt moved to the back of the house. “Tea every Saturday, book club, you know.”

“Caspar.” Linhardt's voice held a tone not wholly dissimilar to one a mother might take in scolding her child.

“Oh, Sorry.”

That denoted the end of the conversation. A silence settled in between the ashes of Marianne's home, and Ferdinand turned his eyes to the ground in search of something that might help him bring her killer to justice.

Though most of what was left of the building was burnt and blackened, it was still easy to discern what was left of floorboards or carpeting. Small piles of ash sat in various places. Ferdinand imagined they may be the remnants of furniture, untouched without a wind to disturb them.

He toed apart a pile of ash out of a bored curiosity to see if anything was left inside of it. Of course there wasn't. For his efforts, Ferdinand's boot turned black at its tip.

There didn't seem to be anything to find. Ferdinand's mind kept wandering, too. Was this a sitting room? That pile of ash could have easily been a couch, and he could imagine a small coffee table or a comfortable chair across from it. Marianne might have spent time here entertaining Linhardt with tea or book club, or perhaps Claude had been her guest?

“Hey! I found something!”

Caspar's loud voice rode the clear air and drew Ferdinand from his daydream.

He didn't hear Linhardt reply, so he moved to see whatever Caspar had found. Linhardt was also emerging from an in tact room, having a bit of black on his sleeve to show for it.

“Ow! Fuck!” His swore preceded a heavy thud. A small light grey object rolled from the room Caspar was investigating and across the floor towards Linhardt.

“Already hurting yourself, Caspar?” Linhardt teased.

“It's fine! This thing was just still really hot?”

“It shouldn't be,” Linhardt said.

The item in question seemed to be a small statuette. Ferdinand wasn't close enough to discern any details, but it had the vague shape of a person leaning on something, or carrying something large. Linhardt pulled down the sleeve of his jacket to protect his hand from it when he leaned down an picked it up.

“You think this is hot?” he asked. He moved it from his covered hand to his unprotected hand easily.

“What? It was!” Caspar moved to try and touch it again. “..Huh. It's not anymore.”

“Maybe it is a psychological response?” Ferdinand suggested. He moved closer, too, in order to get a better look at it.

The small statuette had indeed been a person. It was a woman, carved from some kind of white stone. Though the details were vague, she appeared to be naked. She held up one arm, while the other was extended behind her. The mass that Ferdinand had assumed was a rock or tree she was leaning against was instead a mass of curved branches, maybe? Their shapes were odd. They twisted and tangled together, seemingly coming from the woman herself. Some spiraled around her limbs.

Her face held a lack of details as well, but her eyes were carved large and wide. She had been given no other facial features. Another shape was carved low on her stomach, right above where her legs met her hips. It was the same shape as her eyes, but without being carved in detail it seemed impossible to tell.

“It could be,” Linhardt seemed to agree. “I've read books about that. Perhaps you thought it should be hot, so your body reacted when you picked it up.”

“No, I swear it was really hot!” Caspar protested. “Seriously, look. I think I messed up my hand.”

He held out his right hand, palm facing upwards. True to what he said, his palm and fingers had turned red.

Casually, Linhardt cupped his hand with the one not clasped around the statuette, pressing his thumb into Caspar's palm. He lifted his thumb, and the skin turned white, before returning to red.

“It does look like a burn... I don't think psychology could explain that.”

“Will you be alright?” Ferdinand asked.

“We have aloe vera at home,” Linhardt replied. “I'll bandage it up after, and hopefully it won't swell. Otherwise, you might not be holding a pen for a week.”

Caspar grumbled. “Stupid statue. What even is that?”

“A woman? I don't know. It's still something.” Linhardt stepped forward and placed a small kiss on Caspar's cheek. “Good job.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Ferdinand said gently.

“Oh, not at all,” Linhardt responded. “Three sets of eyes are better than two. Let's get back to work. I'll hold onto this.”

The three split up again in their respective directions, but it was not difficult to search a ruined home. Nothing else was found on the first floor. Once they determined that, Linhardt and Caspar bickered a bit about who should dare try the second story until Ferdinand talked them out of it entirely. No one needed a broken leg, he reminded them, and they couldn't convince him to risk it himself. They seemed hell-bent on it until Ferdinand reminded them he was currently living with Hubert, and they both conceded that Hubert wouldn't give him any assistance if it came down to a broken leg.

The house did not have a basement, so the three men brought their search to the perimeter. The grass around the base of the house hadn't been singed, for the most part. The stone that helped support the base of the house wasn't burnt either, since the walls weren't entirely destroyed, and the ones that still held strong weren't charred the entire way down.

However, Linhardt did point out a circle in the grass that had been burnt away. The singed grass was a bit removed from the house, and the wall beside it was entirely blackened.

“It's like something was here that was caught on fire,” he explained. “Or that something was lit here to burn, at least.”

“Could it have been separate from the fire itself?” Ferdinand asked.

“Well, it looks like it burnt the wall either way...”

“Could it be what caught the house on fire?” Caspar suggested.

“I think either option is likely,” Linhardt decided. “But it doesn't tell us anything for certain. Hm... I'd been hoping this would be more enlightening than it has been. I suppose I can run some tests on the statue to see what it's made of, but we still don't know what happened here.”

“Her house burnt down, duh,” Caspar offered.

Linhardt met him with a small glare.

“Do you believe it was arson?”

Ferdinand's suggestion softened Linhardt's expression. He considered it for a moment. “Yes, I do. From how I know Marianne kept her house, it's impossible for something to have caught fire without being deliberately messed with. She was dead for a few days at that point, so she could not have left something on a delay to trigger it herself, and as far as I'm aware she wouldn't have a reason to burn her own house down.

“My personal hypothesis is some one wanted to cover something up, but the question remains: what? If it really was a homicide, it stands to reason her murderer would want to, should her home be the scene of the crime, but...”

Linhardt trailed off, and Ferdinand prompted him to continue. “But what?”

“But I don't think it was a homicide at all. ...I need more information, still. Thanks for your help, Ferdinand. Even if you didn't find anything. Will you let me know what happened to Sylvain, when you and Hubert figure it out?”

“...Yes, if you would like.”

Linhardt offered a smile, then took Caspar's uninjured hand with his free hand. “Let's get home. I'll cook.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You have enough burns for tonight.”

Ferdinand was impressed they could walk off, still bickering, but they seemed content enough despite it. He decided to head back to the coroner's office as well. The search had passed the time enough that the rumble in his stomach suggested it was time for dinner, and perhaps Hubert would be kind enough to cook him a second meal. At the very least, he'd hoped Hubert had obtained some food that Ferdinand could at least craft a meal out of himself.

He found the coroner sitting in the kitchen, reading from an unlabeled book with a cup of coffee sitting on the table. The lamps were lit, since it had grown dark as Ferdinand walked back. Beside the cup of coffee, there was something wrapped in cloth.

“You were out late,” Hubert noted, not looking up from his book.

“Yes, I...”

Ferdinand didn't know how to describe what he'd done with Linhardt and Caspar. He considered hiding it entirely, but there were merits to telling the truth, and as far as he knew, it wasn't entirely trespassing. ...At the very least, it was a victimless crime.

“I went to look at Ms. von Edmund's house again.” He decided on truth, or at least partially.

“Ah, did you? I believe I heard Caspar swearing from there as I walked by. He's very loud, isn't he?” Hubert reached for his coffee, and glanced up at Ferdinand with a knowing look.

“Yes... He and the doctor wanted to search her house for any clues, and I assisted.”

Hubert didn't reply until he'd taken a deep sip of coffee and replaced his cup on the table. “That's to be expected, it wouldn't be Linhardt's first B&E.”

“B&E?”

“Breaking and entering. I had dinner with the mayor and her lover, and I brought you back a meal if you'd like it. I figured if I didn't, you'd just starve tonight.”

“Ah... I probably would have. Thank you.” He sat down across from Hubert. His hands hovered over the cloth-covered something. It was shaped correctly to be a plate of food at least. “This is it?”

“That's it.”

It was lukewarm turkey, but it was still agreeable. Ferdinand mostly ate in silence, believing Hubert would rather read than speak to him. He gave the impression that he was prickly enough to dislike Ferdinand's company, and Ferdinand only didn't want to inflict on him in the interest of avoiding more dark jokes or unsettling chuckles.

Hubert had a different idea. “How did you sleep, last night?”

“P-pardon?” The question caught him off guard not for starting a conversation, but rather it suggested a certain care or compassion that Ferdinand was unaware Hubert possessed. Making sure some one had a meal was one thing: food was an essential human requirement. A good night's sleep was a step above that, and beyond basic practicality.

“Did I stutter?”

Ferdinand felt his face heating up. “No. I was just unaware you cared about me beyond my use in the examination room.”

Hubert granted him an impassive stare. “Is that what you'd prefer?

“You don't want to be friends?” he added, in a mocking tone.

“You are creepy and are possessed of a disturbing and detestable sense of humor,” Ferdinand replied. “You seem nothing but hostile towards me, and I do not trust that you don't wish to punish or humiliate me for daring to brave your secret cave.”

“It isn't _my_ secret cave,” Hubert corrected. “Though I can see how you may have that assumption.”

“That is besides the point! You have made it abundantly clear yourself you do not wish to be friends, so I cannot see your reasoning for asking me such a question as 'how did I sleep'.”

Hubert allowed a pause before replying, long enough that Ferdinand couldn't tell if it was to consider something, or merely allow him to feel even more uncomfortable.

“If it makes you feel better, I wasn't asking out of any particular care for you.” He closed his book and crossed his arms, staring at Ferdinand. “Just like you are allowing your curiosity to get the better of you, I am conducting my own... Let's say_ investigation_ into some of the oddities I've witnessed of late.

“When I asked 'how did you sleep' I meant to ask... Did you experience any nightmares, last night? Did you feel completely trapped inside a horrific dream that sees you dying, or pulled apart by a horrific beast, or choked with some slithering limb that forces its way down your throat?”

Ferdinand dropped his fork. It clattered upon the plate, and the noise was loud enough to reveal just how _quiet_ the kitchen was when no one was speaking.

“...Y-yes. I did have a nightmare, one just like you describe.”

“I thought as much. If you're wondering how I know, then it is because I've gotten them too, and it is... unlike me. I've had them since I first traversed that cave system.” Hubert let out some sort of scoff, clearly amused, but also perhaps a little disappointed with himself. “It sounds like utter nonsense, that simply walking somewhere could give a man such terrors, and yet I have no other reigning hypothesis.

“Lady Edelgard is the same. And I may as well say it is _her_ underground tunnel... Though some of it is much too old to be hers.”

“What is it for?” Ferdinand asked. He picked up the fork again, but he couldn't finish his meal when this was being discussed.

“Connecting four places.” Hubert spoke as if it were obvious. “Did you not explore the whole thing?”

“No. I found the exit to the graveyard and then I went back without trying the other two passageways.”

He wondered how Claude was faring.

“I can't very well recommend you see the other ends. One leads to the mayor's home, and the other to... a sort of cavern.” He paused again. “Regardless. There is... a _problem_ I am trying to solve. As long as you don't compromise my efforts, I see no issue with you poking around.”

“How might I compromise it?”

“_Claude von Riegan_ got very close.”

“I see.” Ferdinand didn't continue the conversation any further. He didn't want to admit what he'd done in hiding Claude. If Hubert was really responsible for the town turning on him so easily, he felt as though such an act would earn him the same consequence in turn.

Once he finished his meal, he took care of cleaning the plate and covering it again with the cloth. Hubert didn't stir much, only enough to return to the book he'd been reading earlier.

Now that nighttime had fallen he was reminded of the need for sleep. Frankly, he was exhausted after the events of today, and he normally would have found it easy to turn in early to catch up on the energy he'd exerted earlier.

With the way Hubert spoke though, it sounded as though Ferdinand could expect a nightmare every night, or at least a high chance of one. Experiencing another night's sleep that left him more tired than when he'd started it seemed unattractive at best. He almost wanted to stay up the whole night long, in order to avoid it entirely.

“Do you have anything for the nightmares?” he asked Hubert, right as he was about to leave the kitchen.

“No. I just drink coffee to help me deal with the exhaustion of them.”

“Thank you, anyway,” he continued. “For the meal, the information. Have a good night.”

“Don't let the bed-bugs bite,” Hubert replied darkly. A harmless phrase said in his voice could always sound threatening.

Ferdinand returned to his room. He lit the lamp and began looking for parchment and ink. He wasn't sure what he'd write yet, but he considered penning a letter to his step-mother about his time there. He'd promised to write his family, after all.

He wasn't given the chance, as a banging sound rang out throughout the building. A voice urgently called out Hubert's name.

Ferdinand emerged from his room to see Hubert going to answer the door. He followed.

The pounding on the door didn't let up in the slightest. The person on the other side was growing impatient. “Hubert, I _know_ you're in there! Hubert!!”

Hubert opened the door with a sardonic quip. “It's unlike you to raise your voice.”

Linhardt stood outside, looking much worse for wear than he did earlier. His hair was disheveled, standing out wildly in some places, and the first button on his shirt seemed to now be missing.

“Are you okay?” Ferdinand blurted out from over Hubert's shoulder.

“No!” Linhardt replied. His voice cracked with emotion. Ferdinand could see the wetness to his eyes glistening under the light. “Nothing is okay! Hubert, I _need _your _help_.”


	5. Surviving Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning this chapter for body horror. i think this will be the last content warning, since everything should be covered onwards.
> 
> thank you so much to every one who's given me feedback and enjoyed this. i thought this project would be super self-indulgent but i'm so glad every one else is enjoying it too! we're all done with set up and hooks so now we can get into it.

“What is it?”

Hubert's response was more surprising to Ferdinand than he expected. No quip or sardonic remark, no sarcasm or dark jokes at Linhardt's expense. It was the response of a concerned friend.

“We don't have time,” Linhardt replied, still frantic. He was breathing heavily and already began moving away. “I-I can't explain, just... Come _on_.”

Hubert stepped out of the door frame, following Linhardt. Ferdinand hesitated, but soon enough Linhardt broke into a sprint and Hubert took after him. In the split second that followed, Ferdinand decided to join them.

He'd done an awful lot of running today.

Unsurprisingly, Linhardt was bringing Hubert back to his office.

The doctor's office was a two story brick building sitting flush between two houses. This street of town was crowded with buildings. The only thing marking this one a part from the rest was a wooden sign declaring Linhardt a medical professional.

The moment he reached the door to it, Linhardt struggled with the handle briefly before swinging it wide open. “He's in one of the rooms, just follow me!”

The three men quickly rushed through the main room, then through a hallway, and into a smaller room. Though it wasn't the only thing present, Ferdinand's gaze was instantly drawn to the table, or rather, the man laying on top of it.

Linhardt was at Caspar's side before Hubert and Ferdinand could even follow him into the room. One hand was on his forehead. “Has it subsided?”

“Still hurts like hell, Lin,” Caspar replied. His words were delivered through gritted teeth.

Linhardt hissed out a swear. “I'm sorry, I can't...”

“So what is it you needed my assistance for?” Hubert began. Then, he stepped deeper into the room and saw it. “Ah. Nevermind.”

“It's what happened to Marianne.”

“What is?” Ferdinand asked. He moved to stand beside Hubert, and then he saw it.

Caspar's arm was gone.

Or perhaps such a description wasn't entirely correct. Caspar's right arm was no longer arm-shaped. Rather, the appendage sticking out from his sleeve was black and shiny and undulating. It twisted rapidly, fighting against the binding that held it fast to the table under it.

Ferdinand's eyes grew wide. It looked exactly like something out of his nightmares, either like one of the things that bound his body, or the one that attempted to kill him. He could only imagine what it was trying to do before it had been restrained.

It seemed as though Linhardt and Hubert had come to an agreement without words. As they next spoke, it seemed as they were at least two steps ahead of Ferdinand in a conversation he hadn't heard.

“Did you give him morphine?”

“Yes, but it's not doing anything. I tried administering ether, but... He's...”

“Excuse me,” Ferdinand interrupted. The tension in the room gave him a harshness to his voice. He could barely bring himself to look again at what had become of Caspar's arms, so he fixed his eyes instead at a nondescript portion of the floor. “_What_ is happening?!”

“We'll prepare for surgery without anesthetic,” Hubert said, mostly to Linhardt, though it did answer Ferdinand's question, too.

“You know where everything is.” Linhardt's voice was empty. He kept his eyes fixed on Caspar, stroking his hair.

Ferdinand felt a bit like he didn't belong. He was no surgeon, and barely a coroner, even. Linhardt asked for Hubert's help, for whatever reason, but Ferdinand was convinced that he and Hubert could handle it alone. Ferdinand was not required. He was probably just sticking his nose into something private and personal, especially considering the solemn, tired look on Linhardt's face as he quietly soothed Caspar.

That Thing that was his arm was still writhing wildly against the table. It slammed down with a loud bang, and Caspar winced in pain. How horrid that must have felt to be attached to that. ...Hadn't Linhardt said that was what happened to Miss von Edmund?

Hubert placed his hand on Ferdinand's shoulder, and it drew him out of his thoughts instantly. He was thankful for the help in grounding himself. Hubert gave him a slanted glare, and pushed him gently into the hallway. He began moving through it, and Ferdinand followed him.

“You and I can handle this without his help,” Hubert said over his shoulder.

“But I am no doctor...”

“Must I explain to you why it may be in Linhardt's best interest to sit this out?”

“...No. I forgot myself. You are correct.”

Ferdinand was both disappointed in himself for allowing his nerves to get the better of him, and surprised at Hubert's... He was hesitant to describe the man as kind, but such consideration could hardly be considered anything else.

But there was work to be done, and there was a man writhing in pain from something too inconceivable to wholly understand, so he put his thoughts aside. They washed their hands and sterilized themselves to the best of their ability in such a brief timespan.

When they returned to the room, Linhardt had pulled up a chair to sit close to Caspar, on the opposite side of his “arm”. He was hunched close to the other's face. In the light, even at a distance, Ferdinand could see the light of the room shining on the paths that tears had cut down their cheeks. Even if he felt as though he didn't belong here, he had a job to do, and he would do it.

His heart ached for Caspar. The redness to his face, the stiffness of his brow, and the tightness to his jawline all demonstrated the amount of pain he was in, and if ether or morphine couldn't save him... what could?

Hubert tied a tourniquet tightly around Caspar's shoulder.

“Ferdinand. Hold down that Thing,” he instructed. His eyes directed Ferdinand to the undulating black appendage that only hours before had been a fully functional human hand.

Ferdinand answered by setting his gloved hand atop it. It elicited a howl of pain from Caspar, and Linhardt was back to his feet, squeezing Caspar's remaining hand in his and cooing that everything would be alright if he could just hang in there.

“I'll try to make this quick,” Hubert announced.

Ferdinand watched as he brought the saw down on Caspar's arm, just under his shoulder muscle. He could not bring himself to watch anything past that.

Predictably, the poor man cried out as the first cut was made. Eventually he bit his lip, relegating himself to strangled grunts and groans. Linhardt hovered over him, bring himself closer and closer to Caspar's face, as if a gentle caress could really soothe such pain.

As he thrashed against the table, so too did the Thing attached to him thrash with twice as much wild abandon. Ferdinand found himself straining, both hands clasped around this alien form, to keep it from interfering with Hubert's work. Hubert scolded him once or twice – the more the arm moved, the harder it was to cut through, and Caspar could hardly be blamed for his thrashing. Ferdinand would take the blame gladly, even if he believed it should be granted to the slimy mass they were in the process of excising.

In truth, it felt sadistic. Though he knew logically that was his heart aching for Caspar and Linhardt, who were both trying their hardest to stay quiet for different reasons. He was still thankful when Caspar finally relented to the pain and slipped into unconsciousness, even if that meant Linhardt furrowed his brow and stared intently at Caspar's chest with two fingers pressed purposefully into the side of his neck.

“We'll need to stop the bleeding,” Hubert said pointedly.

Even though Caspar had fainted, the Thing that had been his arm still bucked wildly against Ferdinand's grasp, so he knew Hubert wasn't entreating him.

“Linhardt,” Hubert called. His voice was urgent, though still level and stern.

Linhardt looked up. Was he not paying attention? He didn't need to be told twice. Perhaps he heard the first time and only now understood what those sounds meant, or perhaps he knew his trade well enough that a single glance at Hubert's handiwork conveyed the same message.

Ferdinand thought he might have turned paler than he already was, but he murmured some acknowledgment and pulled away to go fetch whatever was needed. As he stepped around Caspar to leave the room, his hand slid across Caspar's form, reluctant to break contact.

He was back shortly after, inserting himself in between Ferdinand and Hubert. This seemed like a different man than the one joking about broken legs just hours before. He began working around Hubert, closing the wound to the best of his ability and trying to mitigate the bleeding as Hubert worked on separating the last of the malformation from the rest of Caspar.

And when it was completely separated, the Thing launched itself into Ferdinand's arms, slapping him in the face in the process. He let out a startled cry, and it continued writhing, moving towards his face.

“Get a hold of it, Ferdinand!” Hubert chastised him.

“Trying!” Ferdinand threw back. The Thing thrashed about in his arms, slapping his face repeatedly. The force of its struggling knocked Ferdinand onto his backside. “How is it still moving?!”

It was a rhetorical question that he shouldn't have voiced. The squirming appendage flailed once more, determined to enter Ferdinand's mouth. The shock of it caused Ferdinand to reflexively cry out in surprise, but that only gave the Thing a better entrance.

Where its wild thrashing was random before, it now became intentionally driving itself into Ferdinand's mouth, all the while he was trying to pull it away and out. He wasn't having much success, and as it squirmed its horrific undulations deeper into Ferdinand's mouth, he found himself reliving the nightmare of last night.

He felt it hit against the back of his throat, and he gagged.

It wriggled out, and Ferdinand was surprised that he was being spared the death his dreams inflicted upon him, only to see that Hubert had ripped it from his person and was violently throwing it on the floor and stomping on it.

Ferdinand was left sitting on the floor, panting heavily. He watched.

While the beating it was taking was slowing down its writhing, it still moved. Hubert brought his foot down hard on it, in a sort of final blow, and it only was left weakly twitching rather than completely motionless.

He had the chance to see that the stump Caspar's arm was left as was now nicely closed and bandaged, already turning crimson.

“Why is it not...” Ferdinand attempted. His question hung in the air, with Hubert keeping his eyes fixed on the alien Thing still limply undulating under his foot.

“It wasn't moving on Marianne,” Hubert noted aloud. “It wasn't moving off of her.”

He dug his foot into the Thing. It protested with motion, the only way it could. Ferdinand was sick to watch it any longer, and his eyes drifted anywhere else. Linhardt was hunched over Caspar again. His head was pressed to his chest, hand on his forehead, looking for warmth.

When he was satisfied with Caspar's relative health, he pulled away and ran his hand down his face. Tracks of red drew lines from his fingers, left over from him closing Caspar's stump just moments prior.

He leaned himself against the table Caspar still laid on, probably also staining the left over red on his clothing. He looked over Hubert's contemplating with a far-away look. Ferdinand noticed his hands were shaking. “I need to... clean up...” he murmured. “So tired...”

“You're always tired,” Hubert softly replied.

“I'm always sleepy,” he corrected him. “This is beyond that.”

He paused to allow himself a sigh. “Caspar's right-handed.” His eyes were fixated on the Thing on the floor, which Ferdinand assumed was still wriggling under Hubert's heel. “I doubt he can use a gun after this. No hunting with Petra, anymore, no... writing his name. At least not for awhile. I'll keep on his left side, now.”

His words made the strange air in the room a bit stranger, or staler.

“There are books detailing the pain one feels, for no reason, mind, missing a limb that was there once. Like they're being punished for losing it. Dreadful, isn't it? How could opium soothe an ache that doesn't exist? ...I'll have to figure something out. This is his life, now.”

“Better than the alternative,” Hubert said. Ferdinand thought the same.

Linhardt cast a shaded look towards Caspar's still form. “We don't even know if this is a permanent fix. His other arm could go just the same. His legs... What could be left if --”

“You do not need to think of that!” The words crossed Ferdinand's lips before he had the opportunity to consider them. He was left with both of the other men staring at him, waiting for him to complete the thought, so he continued for their sakes. “If he survives this, he can survive more. We did not fight that Thing –“ He said the word with clear disdain, eyes darting in its direction (but never glancing upon it again) with a marked disgust. “-- so that we can worry about what ifs that may never happen. You will call us for help if you need it, but do not get so ahead of yourself you cannot see the good we have accomplished.”

Us. Hubert and Ferdinand were a team now. They were an 'us' to speak of.

“Without hope that he will improve,” he concluded, “what was the point of our efforts at all?”

Linhardt hummed. His answer was in the way he looked back at Caspar, and gently touched the shoulder that no longer lead to an arm.

“Well spoken,” Hubert commented. He sighed. “For now, I believe it's best to restrain this Thing in whichever way we can until we can find a way to kill it outright.”

Linhardt folded his arms. Ferdinand's words seemed to have brought him back to the conversation, but he kept that distant look in his storm-colored eyes. “Will Sylvain be cremated? We could burn them together.”

“No. There were no signs of trauma to be found. It's either a heart attack, something of the brain, or something... Else. In any case, the body is presentable enough to be shown so it won't look off if we do... I'll pronounce it heart attack, and we'll see his body sent to his family before tomorrow's end.”

“You pronounced Miss Marianne's death as homicide,” Ferdinand noted. “And this is what happened to her.”

“Would you say this is truly suicide?” Hubert asked sardonically. “I contend it still was. I want to know what could be responsible for this atrocity, and bring about its end swiftly.”

“I'm getting a cup of tea,” Linhardt announced. “...I don't think I can sleep tonight. I'll leave it out, if either of you want any.”

“Ah, that is just what I need!”

Ferdinand sprung to his feet as Linhardt moved to exit the room. Hubert placed his hand on his shoulder before he could follow him out. He directed Ferdinand's attention to the mess remaining from the amputation with a single glance.

“He hates blood,” Hubert reminded him. His voice was lacking its usual terseness. It was almost soft.

“I shall handle it, then,” Ferdinand replied. “Please, do with that Thing as you must. I do not wish to look upon it again.”

Hubert let out some imitation of a laugh. “Do you think I find the experience enjoyable? Stuff of nightmares.”

Stuff of nightmares, indeed.

They parted, Ferdinand busying himself with wiping up the blood as best he could while Hubert dealt with the nightmare. The blood had stained Caspar's clothes, though, and Ferdinand would have changed him if he felt Caspar would give him permission and he knew where to find a new shirt. He did the best he could with what he had, and pressed the back of his hand to Caspar's forehead once he finished.

He was a little clammy, but he seemed warm enough. When he clumsily checked for a pulse, it seemed sufficient to him as well. He didn't quite know how to do it, or what he was looking for, but it was a sign of life regardless, and for Linhardt's sake if nothing else, he wanted Caspar to survive this ordeal. His chest still heaved slowly with sleeping breaths.

Perhaps this was something of a miracle. Caspar survived, seemingly stable. There were considerably worse fates than missing an arm, even if it were his preferred hand. For now it felt like they should celebrate somehow, but such a thing felt pointless as long as Caspar was still out cold.

Linhardt re-entered shortly after with a tray hosting two tea cups and a pot. He set it on an available surface and re-sat himself beside Caspar, sipping the tea.

“One for me?” Ferdinand questioned, because it would be rude to assume.

“As thanks for cleaning the blood for me,” Linhardt confirmed.

“Hubert told me you do not do well with it. It is hard enough to have watched us do this to your...”

“Lover,” Linhardt supplied. “Maybe this is the sort of thing that will make us realize we should formalize it.”

“He still has the appropriate finger for a ring.”

Linhardt exhaled a humorless laugh. He held a melancholy smile, but didn't reply.

“You still have blood on your face,” Ferdinand said, only after he'd taken the cup of tea designated for himself. He also took a deep breath of its scent, and a deep sip. It warmed his chest in a way he sorely needed.

“Thanks for reminding me.” Linhardt's voice dripped sarcasm. “But at least when it's there, I don't have to see it myself.”

They both settled quietly, sipping their tea and listening to Caspar breathe. At some point, Linhardt remarked that they'd know he'd be fine if he started snoring, like he always did, but that wasn't how ether worked.

“I think it was that statue,” Linhardt eventually said. “Some sort of energy exchange when Caspar picked it up. It was in Marianne's house. The same thing could have very well happened to her, as well. I want it out of my house, but I can't ask either of you to try touching it again, or we risk another...”

_Whatever that was_, Ferdinand continued in his head.

“Did you learn anything else from it?”

“I'm no geologist. I could only presume so much of it. It's a rock, white, not marble, not plaster. That's all I have.” Linhardt shrugged. “And I'm not keen on touching it any more than I already have. You may be helping Hubert cut my arm off next.”

“Better than the alternative,” Ferdinand reminded him.

“Caspar would say we match.”

Hubert returned shortly after, carrying something bundled in cloth under his arm with care. “Are you sleeping in here, tonight?” he asked Linhardt.

“If I sleep at all, it'll be in here.”

Hubert nodded. “I'm taking this Thing back with me. And Ferdinand, if he's not staying.”

Lovely how he spoke of him as if he weren't present, or if he were some sort of dog.

“Ah, my apologies.” Ferdinand stood, and placed his now-empty tea cup on the tray beside the pot. “We have probably over-stayed our welcome.”

“Not really,” Linhardt replied. “You've earned more, in my opinion.”

“...Regardless. Let us know if we can be of any more help.” It was Ferdinand's offer. Hubert didn't protest, at least. “And please do not mess with that statue anymore.”

“I'll keep Caspar away from it. He'll probably want to beat it up.”

“Goodnight, Linhardt,” Hubert said finally.

“Yes, goodnight!” Ferdinand echoed.

Linhardt just returned it with a small, tired wave.

The two let themselves out and began walking back to their current residence. The silence accompanying their walk was companionable, not stiff as it had been in the past. The time by now must have been very late, and exhaustion soon began setting back into Ferdinand's bones, now that there was little to help sustain his consciousness with adrenaline.

“Exciting day,” Hubert remarked, as though he intended to create some sort of conversation.

Ferdinand hummed in agreement, and granted him little more. When they turned the next block, however, he couldn't help himself from asking. “Is that _it_?”

“Yes. In formalin. In a jar. In two cloths. I'd be impressed if it escaped from that.”

Ferdinand could feel its ghost in his mouth, pressing against his cheek, his teeth, his tongue, his throat. “I would rather it does not.”

“With any luck, it'll be dead.” If such a thing could die.

The rest of their walk was carried out in that amiable silence. Since Hubert's arms were occupied by the nightmare, Ferdinand thought it would only be proper for him to open and hold the door for him. Hubert seemed surprised, however, quirking his brow in a silent question before accepting the gesture and entering first.

“I'll put this in that _extra_ storage room,” he called over his shoulder, already walking down the hallway to do just that. Ferdinand assumed he meant the empty one leading to that unsettling tunnel. “You should try to get some rest. The carriage will be aiming to pick up Mr. Sylvain early, and you seem the sort of man that does poorly on little sleep.”

Was that the impression Ferdinand gave off? In any case, it was an apt description, he thought. No sleep nor tea dulled his senses certainly. It felt good to wash his face and dress in nightclothes. It felt nice to slip back under the covers. Sleep came for him easily, but it did not feel good when his dreams forced him to relieve Caspar's fate but as his own.

The ghostly pain his nightmares inflicted upon him seemed worse, somehow, than the night before where he'd merely dreamed of choking and suffocation. He was forced to relive, first hand, the horrific act of having an arm surgically removed without anesthetic. Hubert kindly sawed his arm off, and the role he played that night was given to Caspar, looking with concern over Ferdinand's form. He thrashed against the pain, and the horror of change, and when the procedure was complete he had but a moment to regain his breath before his leg mangled into black vines and Hubert moved to excise that, too.

And his remaining leg, and his remaining arm, and then he felt his face twisting and contorting, and Hubert's bone saw was poised at his neck.

The merciful sunlight roused Ferdinand from his horrid dreams once more. A cold permeated his skin that the blankets covering him could not keep out. He sat up, held himself close. It was time to face a new day.

There was work to be done. He dressed quickly, even as the twisted image of Hubert's sneering visage, looking upon him with disgust as he moved to separate Ferdinand's head from his shoulders played on repeat in the back of his mind.

When he saw Hubert lurking in the hallway outside his bedroom door, he nearly started from the juxtaposing images.

“Good morning,” Hubert said cordially. “I expect you didn't sleep well either.”

Ferdinand didn't even know how long he'd had to sleep. The ordeal from last night certainly took a while. He had no idea when his head finally hit the pillow, or at what point the sun was hanging in the sky. “A different night, a different nightmare,” Ferdinand murmured in response.

Hubert hummed in agreement. “You normally go out for breakfast. I thought we might share it to discuss events.”

“Is that...” Is it safe to discuss openly, Ferdinand wondered, but he allowed his sentence to stop itself.

There was a pause before Hubert responded. “There is still no food in the house, and Lady Edelgard can go without my company for one morning.”

Was it loneliness then? Surely Edelgard's company was better, if not equal to, Ferdinand's, in Hubert's eyes. It seemed odd, but Ferdinand wouldn't deny that he preferred to share breakfast with some one more companionable than that terse waitress.

With Claude gone, he was unlikely to get that.

“I will show you the cafe I have been eating at. The waitress does not like me much at all.”

“That could be any cafe.”

“What do you mean?”

Hubert didn't reply. He waved his hand to gesture Ferdinand follow him out the building, and from there Ferdinand took the lead. Their destination was the same cafe Ferdinand visited all the other days. The trip there was unremarkable and quiet, but there was something nice about not being the only one on the streets this morning.

When they arrived and stepped inside, Hubert immediately chuckled.

“Ah. Dorothea.”

Even though he wasn't projecting his voice, the waitress caught her name in the still air of the cafe and looked up from the magazine she was perusing.

“Hubie?” she called. A sly smile spread on her face. “What brings you so far from Edie's side, today?”

“Breakfast,” he replied curtly. He grabbed Ferdinand's arm and pulled him towards a table, sitting down.

“You're friends with the outsider,” she pointed out playfully. “He's been stinking up the joint every morning. I didn't know you two were acquainted.”

“I am right here,” Ferdinand interjected meekly.

“He's working under me for the moment. Have you been cold to him?”

“Of course I have.” Dorothea shrugged. “I figured he was here for Byleth, somehow, and I don't want to get my business tangled in all of that.”

“...Quite.”

“Miss Byleth?” Ferdinand asked. “Is there something the matter?”

“Oh, I'd like to hope not,” Dorothea answered. “But the town hasn't been as lively since she showed up, or as friendly. We all like her, of course. She's a nice woman, pretty, if not a little quiet.”

The brunette glanced to the side, playing with a lock of her hair. “But after that show yesterday, Petra and I have considered leaving town. Won't you miss us, Hubie?”

“You should do as you feel is necessary,” he replied distantly. “Please bring me a cup of coffee. I'm sure you know what Ferdinand would like, by now, but I'll have some fried eggs, toast, and sausage this morning.”

She sighed dramatically, but bustled into the back to inform whichever chef was working.

“It's likely that more people will think of moving away after yesterday,” Hubert began. He didn't seem entirely pleased about his conclusion, despite the fact that he was voicing it for Ferdinand.

“I could not blame them,” Ferdinand replied. “Claude told me he was a friend of Miss Marianne. If any one else knew that, and they were afraid of also being accused of the murder of some one close, it is an easy path to leaving town.”

“So I should expect you to leave?”

Hubert watched him carefully as he answered, but Ferdinand was confident. “I could not abandon this town knowing that the atrocity Caspar faced last night could happen again to another innocent. That it took Miss Marianne's life outright is injustice enough. We saved Caspar's life. I will not be satisfied with only that.”

That elicited a chuckle from Hubert. This time, it didn't feel as though he were making fun of Ferdinand as much as he had in the past. Ferdinand could concede that his words may have been naive, or perhaps more optimistic than was warranted in the face of such an inconceivable event. Still, he meant them, and he was not about to take them back.

“Your words are foolish.” Ferdinand expected the response. “...But if that's what you believe, I doubt I can change it. Rather, I believe we can help each other.”

Hubert glanced around his shoulder to see if Dorothea had yet emerged from the kitchen. She had. For a moment, he seemed to consider the value of that, or perhaps the value of her knowing what he was about to say.

He leaned in slightly towards Ferdinand, his eyes bright with something that hadn't been visible there before. When he continued, his voice was hushed, probably for Dorothea's sake. “Lady Edelgard would not want her people to suffer the same as Caspar and Marianne has. I will tell you more after breakfast. We don't have to be on opposite sides, here. You're sure to bumble into trouble, anyway.”

“Are you... investigating?”

Hubert nodded. “Yesterday wasn't the only strange day. More are sure to come. Don't you think?”

“I would like no more to come.” It was an agreement in it's own right.

If Hubert didn't want Dorothea privy to whatever he wanted to speak about in earnest, so be it. Ferdinand wouldn't press it, but he would turn the ideas over in his mind while they ate.

The surprising thing about their shared meal was probably that it was filled with pleasant conversation. Hubert asked questions about his family that gave a more compassionate impression than Ferdinand thought the man was capable of, and also briefly spoke about how Lady Edelgard was the closest thing to family he had himself.

They both had a mutual disdain for their fathers, though Hubert wouldn't even concede he liked his in the slightest. Ferdinand couldn't fault him for this, as he didn't know the reasoning, and even if his impressions of Hubert had changed since they first met, he was convinced wholly that Hubert was a logical person and based judgments of characters off evidence.

Dorothea was friendlier now, too. Before they left she warned them cheerfully that she might not be around the next time they swung by.

They kept their light-hearted conversation on the walk back (who knew who might have been listening, after all). Hubert even held the door for Ferdinand. Odd how quickly things could change in just a few days...

Hubert reminded him that they had to prepare Mr. Gautier for transport. He was to be sent home to his hometown, with his death certificate, so that a proper funeral could be held for him. The official cause of death was heart attack.

“I think it's of fright, but they frown on listing that for men,” Hubert had commented.

The task involved stitching up the wounds they inflicted upon him in their investigation. Hubert also described what a mortician might do to him when he arrived at his destination. They had a trick for sewing his jaw shut, and they'd glue his eyelids closed so that he'd look properly at peace when his family wanted to view him. They'd pump his veins full of chemicals, most likely. That was in fashion, these days.

Ferdinand found it a bit fascinating. That was the first time he'd ever considered how much work might have gone into something so easily taken for granted. He wondered how many chemicals had been injected into his dear mother when she passed. Probably plenty, considering his father's fixation on her young beauty.

Sylvain was wrapped in a thin shroud and a thick bag.

“They come around noon, usually,” Hubert explained. And it would be noon soon enough. “While we have a moment... Shall we speak?”

“Of?” They seemed to be speaking a lot. What needed introduction?

“I burned down Miss Marianne's house.”

Ferdinand froze. Hubert was so impossible to predict. Just when he thought they were getting along, to the point where he may not hesitate to call Hubert a friendly acquaintance, he had to admit such a thing?

“...Edelgard publicly accused Claude as the culprit, and of her murder.”

“I did not kill her, of course. You saw her true cause of death last night. But there's no reason to cause a stir across town over it if it remains isolated. Caspar's misfortune was troubling, but I'm trying to prevent another... _accident_.”

It felt unkind to call it such, and yet Ferdinand could supply no alternative. It just felt like more of a horrible infliction than an honest mistake.

“That's why she was burnt, you know. Easier to say a murderer mangled her and that cremation was in the family's best interest like that. Cutting off her arm was my idea. I wanted Linhardt's opinion on its source. We seem to have stumbled into that discovery... Still by his hand, too.” Hubert pressed a finger to his chin thoughtfully.

“But... The display yesterday. That was completely unnecessary! Claude was chased out of town as a scapegoat for... what, exactly?!”

“That...” Hubert paused. “I feel as though I'm to blame for it. It wasn't my idea, though, and Lady Edelgard didn't inform me that was what she wanted to discuss... But I'm the reason she knew he was inquiring about Miss Marianne in the first place.”

“That is why he came to visit the day prior.”

“Yes. My orders were to tell her if anyone began asking specific questions. Your investigation has gone unrecorded as... Well.”

He didn't have to remind Ferdinand that he'd sort of flailed onto the stage and discovered things due in part to accident, coincidence, and his unwarranted curiosity. They both understood that in his gaze.

“Do you know what happened to Claude, by the way?”

Ferdinand hadn't anticipated that question. Did he truly care for the other's fate? Ferdinand couldn't help but wonder if he wouldn't report this, too, back to Edelgard, and in three day's time, Edelgard would be pointing a finger at him and declaring him some sort of social heretic or pariah.

“He escaped into the woods,” Ferdinand replied stiffly. He loathed lying, but Hubert would hear the same from any one else in town. Ferdinand was certain of that. Claude seemed too clever to waste the opportunity that tunnel allowed him.

“I don't believe that. I believe you helped him.”

Ferdinand swallowed dryly. “Believe whatever you like. The truth of the matter is that he's on his own, where-ever he is, and I hope he's okay.”

Hubert hummed, considering. “So you're still afraid to tell me the truth?”

“I am not afraid of you.” Ferdinand wanted to make that point completely clear. Because it was true – Hubert was creepy in many ways, and he still didn't know the extent to which Hubert was in control of the situation in town, but he knew that Hubert answered to Edelgard, and Ferdinand didn't know what he wanted to allow Edelgard to know. Claude's current location was definitely something she would use for ill, and he was certain of it.

“That said, I will be honest. I cannot prevent anything I say from traveling through you to our esteemed Mayor, and I believe for the moment there are things I know that I do not wish for her to learn.”

It was more or less a blatant admittance that he knew where Claude was, or at least where he was going, or could be.

Something crossed over Hubert's face. His countenance was usually one of cool control. Now, the shadow of a doubt touching his gaze.

“I'm no stranger to hiding things from her,” he admitted. “I don't want another _Claude_ to happen.”

That wasn't enough to convince Ferdinand of the matter. “Allow me a question?” he tried, instead.

“Very well.”

“Who was Mr. Dimitri Blaiddyd? He died, but I have not seen his corpse, and I expect you will have had to take care of his body.”

“Ah. Is that it?” If Hubert was relieved at this question, what could he have been anticipating from Ferdinand? He continued without that confirmation. His answer turned out to be simple.

“He was the town coroner.”

“And you?”

“I may as well explain. It isn't much of a secret. Dimitri died. I actually did not oversee his autopsy. As far as I'm aware, the entire town presumes him missing entirely. Lady Edelgard pronounced him dead herself, as per the suggestion of Byleth, only recently. I do have the feeling they are aware of what happened to him, but they have said nothing, nor do I know anything in detail...

“Since our coroner was dead or missing, however you'd like to believe, we needed a new one. That follows simple logic. I was to fulfill this task if an emergency arose – but she specifically entreated your father to send you, so that you could fill that role.”

Something hard settled in the pit of Ferdinand's chest. It was true that his father received the letter... But this meant that either his father knew, and didn't quite care, as it meant Ferdinand would eventually fulfill that hope of his to become a doctor, or he didn't know at all. Either way, it felt a bit of an underhanded scheme from their dear mayor, and it only served to sour his opinion of her.

“I do not understand,” he admitted. “She acts as though she is more than happy to have some one so loyally reporting whichever death suits her cause. She could not be certain that I would do that for her.”

“That was precisely her reasoning at first.” Hubert carried a more open look, less clouded and almost friendly. “She didn't want that sort of control. I would fulfill that role _if it was needed_. She didn't anticipate it actually coming to pass. She didn't want even the appearance of having such a control over something that could easily been taken advantage of. And that is why...”

He paused, turning to stare at his hands. Ferdinand allowed him the moment, despite his burning curiosity, stoked by the flames of his growing anger.

He didn't like this arrangement from the beginning, and this almost felt like a betrayal from his father. He had to wonder: was his father allowing such an act to avoid the punishment Ferdinand would bring him? He thought he'd kept him in the dark with his disdain for his father's avarice, and yet this suggested the opposite.

“That is why I became concerned when she changed her mind.”

Immediately, Ferdinand was looking back at Hubert. “She changed her mind?” he repeated lamely.

“It's unlike her.” Something about the set of his jaw gave Ferdinand the impression that Hubert was angry somehow, too. “She was never the sort to want this sort of control. When she became mayor, she swore that she'd resign when she saw an end to her goal. Once she believed she was no longer needed, she was to retire.”

“What could have possibly...”

Ferdinand couldn't claim to know Edelgard even half as well as Hubert did, but that he was concerned at all spoke volumes for the situation. He didn't even have to voice the full question before Hubert was offering more information.

“Byleth. Dimitri went missing shortly after she began living with Edelgard, and I fear she's been responsible for this... change. I think she's responsible for much more, but I current have no basis for my hypothesis.”

To think of it, that woman held a certain air about her that Ferdinand couldn't place. She was beautiful, and quiet. Their meeting in the graveyard had seemed amiable enough. She seemed kind, despite the setting, the gloomy sky, and her quietness. He supposed any one could be different behind closed doors – his father had never been anything but kind to him, all while hurting the people he governed horribly. A reversal of that dynamic was not unreasonable to consider.

And thinking of Byleth now, Ferdinand could not recall her face. He remembered her eyes were blue, and big, but that was it. She took the form of a shapely woman dressed in black in his mind, looking as though she was mourning, with no face save those wide eyes.

He shuddered.

“So,” Hubert continued, drawing Ferdinand from his thoughts. “I don't particularly mind you looking around. If you find anything of note, I'd like to hear of it.”

Ferdinand considered telling Hubert about Claude, but a knock on the door startled him away from the topic.

“That will be the people coming for Mr. Sylvain. Let's get him aboard.”

It was a sort of anti-climatic affair. All they needed to do was lift his body into the carriage. Hubert signed a few papers and passed off what Ferdinand knew to be the poor man's death certificate. Then, the carriage rode away, sounding off against the cobblestone road until the sound faded into the distance.

They would not see his funeral, or apologize to his family, or anything. He was a man Ferdinand had never even met. Whoever Sylvain Jose Gautier had been was not something Ferdinand knew, and there was something sobering to know that he never would, either.

They went back inside. Since transporting the body wasn't much of a messy affair, they lacked the gloves or mess of fluids that might warrant another clean-up session. Without anything to do, Ferdinand expected Hubert to just drift away and attempt to spend the time alone.

Ferdinand had a letter to draft. That would be fine with him, and give him a chance to write it and hopefully get it sent off to his father at the earliest convenience. He had a few questions, after all.

Instead of that, though, Hubert opened the door to the tunnel room, and picked up the bundle that held that Thing.

(What could he call it? It was nightmarish, it could have literally been excised from his nightmares as easily as it had been separated from Caspar. It was also too vague to truly comprehend, and Ferdinand didn't want to take another glance to figure out a better term.)

“Let's see how our friend is doing, shall we?” Hubert joked.

He set the bundle atop the examination table and began removing the cloth coverings. Hesitantly, Ferdinand stood on the opposite side of the table. He didn't want to see, but they were something of a team now, and if he had any confirmation that it was well and truly dead or completely gone, it would be some modicum of comfort.

Unfortunately, the Thing was still there, curled inside the clear liquid. It was motionless, save for a gentle spin that the movement had given it. It also seemed... smaller. With the size of the jar, Ferdinand imagined Hubert struggling to get it inside, then even more so to seal the top on. Now, the Thing was sort of shriveled, as though it were dry, despite the liquid it floated in.

Hubert rapped his knuckles against the glass. It made no response.

“It is dead,” Ferdinand declared.

“But from what?” Hubert mused. “It could be that it was still alive at first, but the separation slowly killed it like starvation. This solution could have killed it – too much of that would kill you or I.”

“It is obviously some sort of magic.” Ferdinand was confident, despite the fact that his words were wild for even himself to hear. At the very least, he certainly had no idea what could _logically_ create such a Thing.

Hubert scoffed, but it sounded more amused than condescending.

“What I _mean is_,” Ferdinand continued, “we cannot know if it will _stay_ dead. Linhardt thought the statue found at Miss Marianne's home was responsible for this. Could it be possible that it not only sparked this abomination, but also sustained it?”

“You mean to suggest that a proximity to it was required to allow it to live?”

“Yes.”

Hubert began re-covering the jar and bringing the Thing into his arms. “Let's test it.”

He carried a small smirk. Ferdinand felt a chill run down his spine. “Is that really necessary?”

“Don't you want to check up on how Caspar's doing?”

Well, that was true, at least. Though Ferdinand didn't know why they needed an excuse to express their concern, he would grant Hubert that learning more about it may be beneficial somehow, loathe as he was to concede.

Hubert carried it there. Ferdinand held his arms close to him. He walked beside Hubert still, but he didn't want to be very close to it. Even if it were dead for real.

Ferdinand knocked at the door to be polite. While they had been there the night prior, it had been made clear the building served as both office and home to Linhardt. Despite that the first floor was relegated to office space, it felt a little insensitive to let themselves in, especially knowing what had happened less than twenty-four hours ago.

It took a long while for the door to open. At one point, Hubert quietly suggested Linhardt was sleeping – and he would undeniably deserve it – but nevertheless, the doctor appeared, hiding a yawn behind one hand.

He was already pale, but he looked paler. He had already held a tired, disinterested gaze, but now he looked even more exhausted. His eyes moved from Ferdinand to Hubert, but he didn't greet them. Maybe he expected them to state their purpose without prompting.

So Ferdinand did. “How is Caspar?”

Compassion first.

Linhardt blinked and moved away from the door, motioning his hand for them to follow. “He woke up in pain. I'm trying to mitigate it. It's hard keeping him from... moving around, and everything. You brought that Thing back?”

“Ferdinand had an interesting hypothesis.”

“I'm not sure I care. Keep it away from Caspar, if you must bring it inside.”

Hubert set it down just inside the door. Linhardt lead them upstairs. The clinical, neutral atmosphere of the doctor's office gave way to a homier space with flowered wallpaper and pressed flowers framed and hanging on the wall.

“Caspar,” Linhardt called softly. In the quiet of the house, it didn't particularly matter how loud he was. “Visitors. Just for you.”

It must have been their bedroom that Caspar had been moved to. He was sitting up on a large bed, re-dressed in a new change of comfortable clothes from last night. The bandage on his stump was bloodied, though Ferdinand assumed it had been changed since then.

Ferdinand felt as though he should have brought flowers.

“Oh, hey!” Despite the state he was in, he gave that easy grin of his. “Thanks for helping Lin out last night. He probably didn't say it, so I'll say it for him.”

Linhardt sighed and sat beside him. On his left.

“We are happy to have been of help,” Ferdinand said for the both of them. “I am glad you are awake and seem well, considering.”

“Have you experienced anything strange?” Hubert asked. He had no time for pleasantries aparently. Ferdinand frowned.

“Huh?” Caspar seemed a bit confused, but Hubert didn't supply him with a real meaning. Linhardt wrapped himself around Caspar's remaining arm. “Strange like...? I guess I had a weird dream earlier, but I've been pretty good considering. It hurts when I move it, but it's kind of hard _to _move, so I guess you did a good job with me.”

His smile faded, and his eyes flickered to his right shoulder. “Uh. What happened to it?”

“I'm glad you asked.”

Ferdinand believed Hubert sounded far too pleased to say that.

“Do you still have the offending... statue, was it?”

“Don't touch it,” Linhardt said flatly. “Unless you're keen on losing your arm, or worse.”

“I didn't intend on coming into contact with it. Surely some level of protection could prevent whatever happened from happening again. We don't even know that it will.”

“You touched it,” Ferdinand said. “Remember? You touched it and it did not seem to affect you.”

Linhardt made some sort of grumbling sound and reluctantly peeled himself from Caspar. “It would be different if Caspar hadn't gotten hurt,” he said.

“If it had been you, you'd still be interested,” Hubert commented. Linhardt shot him something of a glare.

“I'll show you it. You can be the one to touch it or take it. I want to get rid of it.”

Ferdinand was unsure whether or not to follow them out of the room. In all honesty, he didn't want to see that statue again either, especially if it were truly responsible for the horror inflicted upon Caspar. He spared a glance at Caspar. The smile faded as Hubert and Linhardt left the room. He shifted a little. There was a book beside him, to his left, but it was just as likely to be Linhardt's with how casually he curled back into Caspar's side. He could be bored and lonely... So Ferdinand would keep him company instead. They could easily call for him if he was needed elsewhere.

He offered Caspar a smile. “Did Linhardt give you something for the pain?”

“Of course!” The smile was back to his face. Maybe he was grateful for the company. “Still hurts, though. It's that kind of pain. He says it'll be a few months before it's anywhere near healed enough to keep bandages off. And if I know him he'll be trying to help me with things for even longer than that. And I know him.”

Ferdinand let out a small chuckle. “He was very worried for you. Perhaps this is how he is just showing his appreciation that you are okay.”

Caspar turned pink. “Yeah, maybe.”

“May I?” He gestured to a spot at the corner of the bed.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

So Ferdinand sat at the end of the bed. He thought this moment was nice. It was a small sliver of sunniness against a dark, cloudy sky. Even if Caspar was now missing an arm, he was _alive_, and breathing, and smiling as he spoke of some one dear to him. That seemed somewhat priceless in the face of the mounting confusion Ferdinand feared was just over the horizon. He wanted to cherish it a bit. Hopefully Hubert and Linhardt had much to discuss.

“Do you like living here?” he asked abruptly. If things had changed when Byleth moved in with Edelgard, perhaps there was a time when people didn't stay off the streets all day, or actually introduced themselves to strangers with a smile instead of a scowl.

Caspar seemed a little surprised at the question, but he considered it.

“It was nicer, sometime before. People got kind of stand-offish recently. I don't really know why.”

He shrugged, and the motion of it elicited a sharp wince as his face scrunched up in pain. It took a moment more to loosen his jaw. “This place was gonna be some kind of... Well, Edelgard really just wanted to start something. Like a snowball effect, right? Like...”

He paused, glancing at the door. “Like Linhardt's the only son of this rich family. His father's got a minor title, even. He's supposed to become some politician and uphold his family name, get married and make sure their bloodline continues... That kind of thing. He doesn't want to do any of that, so Edelgard keeps his family away as long as he's the doctor here, until she can find a new doctor.

“And I'm the opposite. A couple of years ago, I got into enough bar fights that my family completely disowned me. Here, that doesn't matter. No one cares what I did, just that I can help keep people fed. That's nice.”

Caspar's smile wasn't so much as a wide grin now as a gentle curve. “Guess I won't be doing that as much anymore, huh?”

“You said was,” Ferdinand remarked.

“Huh?”

“You said this town _was_ supposed to be some sort of place where you could live as you pleased. So... it is no longer that way?”

“Oh, yeah. It kind of got a little... I dunno, _oppressive_ after Byleth showed up?” Caspar's brow furrowed in thought. He quickly amended his statement, “I-I mean, she's really nice and everything! I know Edelgard likes her a lot, and all. But I think that's about the same time every one started just... Keeping more to themselves. And then Dimitri died, and Marianne and... It's really all gone downhill pretty fast.”

Ferdinand folded his arms, his own brow knitting. Hubert said something similar. Briefly, he wondered if there was no way to fix it, or reverse what had happened. It did seem like a lovely idea for a town, and if Edelgard wanted to spread those ideals further, Ferdinand couldn't say he disagreed with the sentiment.

“Hey, Ferdinand?”

He didn't realize he was staring so furtively at the wall until he had to turn his head to return his gaze to Caspar.

“Don't tell this to Hubert, okay? But I think something's up with Edelgard. I think she's different. I know he really cares about her, but... You know, I don't know if that means he agrees with her now or he's concerned too.”

Ferdinand considered the merits of telling Caspar that Hubert fell into the latter category, but first promised not to say. “I won't.”

“Thanks.”

Hubert's voice carried through the hallway from the stairs. The two must have been returning to fetch Ferdinand. “Yes, but there's nothing wrong with leaving. The sooner the better, after all. Dorothea spoke as though she and Petra would be gone before tomorrow.”

“As much as I love simply running from my problems... A carriage ride will probably be so painful for Caspar. Like I said...”

“Yes, yes, give you thirty minutes and you can figure the whole thing out.”

In some way, Ferdinand expected Hubert to be carrying that statue from yesterday in his hands. He imagined it uncovered, white, and odd, sitting in the crook of Hubert's arm. Its strange, impassive gaze would stare at Ferdinand from its cradle, seeing something in him that made him sick to think too long about. Instead, Hubert was empty handed.

Linhardt spoke first. “Ferdinand. We're going spelunking.”

“What?” He asked the question, but he didn't entirely need the clarification. Hubert must have told Linhardt about the tunnel, or at least about some other things that he and Ferdinand had already spoke of.

Linhardt opened his mouth to reply, but Ferdinand beat him to the punch. “You mean the tunnel.”

“Yes.”

Ferdinand frowned. He wasn't too keen on going back, but there were the paths he'd yet to traverse. It was likely that Claude had left the tunnels entirely by now. He could just climb back up through the graveyard exit and run off into the woods like Ferdinand said he had. On the same token, if Claude was really investigating things in the same way they were – by different means, by himself – then it was also just as likely he'd explore the catacombs like Linhardt was now suggesting.

“Very well...” Ferdinand's voice held no enthusiasm at the thought of it. His eyes darted back to Hubert, who was standing without any expression touching his face, though perhaps it was Ferdinand's imagination that there was something almost mischievous twinkling in his eyes.

He stared directly at Hubert when he told Linhardt, “Perhaps we will see Claude down there.”


	6. Dead Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand and Linhardt go spelunking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more gore and emeto warning. emeto is right after the gore but i didn't describe it in detail or anything.
> 
> the next chapter will wrap up the story, and chapter 8 will be an epilogue because this fic is nothing if not self-indulgent :)
> 
> by the way, linhardt is my favorite character.
> 
> thank you to all of you who have left comments! i haven't been replying as often because i've been trying to work on this. i still appreciate all the feedback and i'm so happy to see so many of you enjoying this! <3

Hubert was not going down there with Ferdinand and Linhardt. There were a few good reasons against it, which they discussed on the walk to the cemetery. First was the option Ferdinand suggested – Hubert may have been going straight to Edelgard. While the doubt lingered at the back of his throat, he was rather confident that this didn't spell bad news for him. Their earlier discussion granted him some confidence that Hubert was now on his side just as much as he was on Edelgard's (No, probably less. He spoke with a strange reverence about her.) so he was leaning towards the idea that this was one last entreaty to solve things without moving behind her back. There was also the upside that if Edelgard would have met them underground concidentally, Hubert could distract her away from whatever business she'd hold down there hopefully long enough that she wouldn't cross paths with them.

He trusted that however Hubert handled it would be the correct way, at least.

Linhardt suggested that he truly _was _going to keep Caspar company while they searched. He said that Caspar was hopelessly impulsive. The brief protest Caspar put up in favor of joining Ferdinand and Linhardt on their little expedition was evidence enough he wasn't happy with being left behind. Moving as little of his upper body as possible clearly left him in debilitating pain. Without insurance on what they'd find down there, there was no telling if the wound would reopen or jostle him enough to be more than unpleasant. Linhardt had been adamant about him staying put, and Hubert's offer to stay behind had included the caveat of babysitting him.

It began raining as they walked to the graveyard. They didn't have an umbrella, and Linhardt complained about it (“We may as well make these days as horrible as possible, says the Goddess.”) but Ferdinand didn't mind it as much. The skies had held their rain for a few days now, and the release was at least confirmation that weather still worked correctly, despite the motionless clouds that hid the sun. To him, it was a step in the right direction, even if it wasn't ideal.

The rain was gentle, too. It was just a drizzle that Ferdinand could barely feel through his hair and clothes. Where it hit his face reminded him he was still breathing, and that seemed like a nice reminder after last night.

The graveyard was no different from before. Rather, it was about exactly the same. As Ferdinand and Linhardt stepped through the gated entrance, Miss Byleth was emerging from that mausoleum labeled “Hresvelg”. She spotted them after locking it back up and offered them a gentle smile.

Ferdinand felt his shoulders tense, and he glanced over to Linhardt. If what Caspar had said was anything to go off of, it seemed every one in town was familiar with Byleth in a way that Ferdinand didn't understand. She was the mayor's lover, sure, but what did she _do?_ It sounded like every one had a role in this town.

“Good afternoon, boys,” Byleth said. She sauntered towards them, skirts swaying. The click of high heels on the path rang in time with her movement. “It is a graveyard day, isn't it?”

Ferdinand didn't know what she meant. He was glad to have a companion at least a little more familiar with this than he.

“Is that why you're here?” Linhardt asked.

Byleth said nothing and merely held her smile. It didn't touch her blue eyes, which were still wide and open, almost like a curious child. It was certainly a curious expression, in at least one way.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to speak with Edelgard.”

She bustled her way past them and out of the graveyard. Linhardt watched her leave the entire way, perhaps paranoid that she'd turn around and see whatever they were about to do. He didn't trust her, clearly, though Ferdinand could say the same of himself.

Once she disappeared down the street enough for Linhardt, he pointedly stepped towards the mausoleum.

“That is not where the tunnel is,” Ferdinand called after him. “It is more hidden, over there, in fact.”

He gestured to where the grate closed over the entrance to the catacomb, but Linhardt wasn't looking.

“I don't come here,” Linhardt explained. “Graveyards give me the creeps. But why is there a mausoleum...”

“It is a cemetery?” Ferdinand offered. “They have --”

Linhardt cut him off. “Hresvelg.” He pointed at the name carved over the door. “Edelgard's last name. Who would she have buried here?”

“Family, perhaps?”

“No. Her father died years before this town even began construction. The rest of her family died while we were children.” He stepped closer, placing his hands on the barred gate that closed it to the public. “And Byleth had the key. Assuming this was really a precious place to bury loved ones, why would she come without Edelgard?”

Ferdinand appeared at his shoulder, peering over to look inside. There was a small set of stairs leading downwards, meaning that any coffin carrying a body was obscured from simply just looking in.

He heard a gentle clicking sound. Looking down at Linhardt's hand proved he was using a thin piece of metal to break the lock.

“What are you doing?” Ferdinand hissed, as though raising his voice would alert to anyone what was happening.

“Making progress,” came the casual reply. “This isn't my first B&E.”

Ferdinand couldn't help but roll his eyes.

The lock clicked decisively and Linhardt gently pushed open the gate. Ferdinand expected it to creak, but it was completely silent. Linhardt wasted no time in stepping inside, sliding that small piece of metal back into his pocket.

“Did you know you'd need that?” Ferdinand wondered as he followed close. Something about the situation made him want to minimize the distance between them.

“No, but it's best to be prepared. Especially for work like this.”

They descended the set of stairs deeper into the mausoleum. The marble that made up the structure gave way to dirt and limestone. It was a small cave carved into the ground, lit by the small amount of light that was allowed to travel from the mausoleum entrance and many, many candles.

They were clustered about the edges of the room, each of them lit and unscented. The only other thing decorating the room was a stone table of sorts. It could have very well been a coffin, if there was any indication that it might open to allow a corpse inside, but there seemed to be none. Ferdinand's first thought was that it was an altar.

Atop it sat a variety of statues. Four were smaller and carved vaguely from white stone in the same shape of the one that had been found in the ruins of Marianne's house. Behind them was a larger one cradling some sort of large, shallow bowl. This one seemed made of bronze. It was more detailed, or at least carefully carved. Each curve was smooth, not nearly as jagged as the smaller stone statues.

What it depicted, however, was harder to understand. It successfully conveyed some sort of figure holding the bowl, leaning in close and almost hovering over it. It had a human-like face contorted into some sort of painful or sorrowful expression... Yet Ferdinand also got the impression of joy or glee from it, like it was equally likely that its gaping maw could be screaming out in pain or bursting into laughter.

Its arms were wrapped around the bowl, digging their fingers into the rims as though they were holding it tightly, yet also with their arms extended as though they were presenting the bowl more than protecting it. Though those were its first set of arms. They seemed to have more, bent at odd angles and curling into waves of undulating tendrils not unlike what happened to Caspar the night before.

That was what consisted of the rest of the carving, a human body twisted into vague shapes of curves and criss-crosses, curling into itself. Each ended in a sharp point Ferdinand believed could draw blood if he pressed his finger too hard into it.

The bowl it curled around was stained with a dark rust color. His first thought was that it was from blood, but it seemed a ghastly idea without anything to prove that.

“Well, that's disgusting,” Linhardt commented.

“Is it...”

“It looks like blood,” Linhardt continued. “I suppose it could be something else as well, but this entire... creepy set up leaves little else to the imagination. Why not? Just go all out.”

“Let's leave,” Ferdinand suggested. He still couldn't bring himself to move further away from Linhardt. The proximity felt anchoring, somehow.

“There doesn't seem like much to find,” Linhardt agreed. He rounded the altar, leaning on one leg to peer behind it. The atmosphere of the room gave Ferdinand the slight fear that something might jump out and grab him, but he drew himself back to his full height without incident.

“Byleth is clearly _doing something _here, but what? Do you think she's the one who crafted these statues?”

“Do not touch them,” he warned.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

Without any prior indication, Linhardt turned on a heel and left the cavern. Again, Ferdinand followed closely. Together, they exited the mausoleum, though Ferdinand was the one closing the gate behind them.

Linhardt began speaking, but his voice was a bit quiet, directed more towards himself than Ferdinand. “What did we learn? Those statues are connected to Byleth... Edelgard probably knows about this. When did she have the mausoleum built? Hubert would probably know that. So...

“Ah, Ferdinand. The tunnel?”

“Yes. It's over here.”

Linhardt walked slowly, yawning as though they hadn't just broken the lock on a very important-looking mausoleum that hid something suspiciously and furtively. Ferdinand beat him to the grate and had it open before he was even looking at it.

“It's a ladder,” Linhardt complained.

“This was your idea!” Ferdinand reminded him.

“Oh, allow me to complain, will you? I'm still going. Let's see if we can find some answers. Maybe Claude will even have some?”

Ferdinand wasn't sure how Linhardt could manage his sarcasm. It seemed a little too light-hearted in the face of some sacrificial altar and his prior experience in this very tunnel. He went down the ladder first, carefully taking his steps down into the darkness. The lantern he insisted upon bringing was Linhardt's, and so was fastened to Linhardt's belt and swinging against Linhardt's thigh. Ferdinand watched it as he made his way down the ladder. It took far too long, for his tastes, for him to detach it from his hip and light it, but once it was lit, Ferdinand was glad for its light and gentle warmth.

“Will you take it?” Linhardt asked, presenting it to Ferdinand as though it were he obscured in darkness. “My arm hurts already.”

“Gladly.” Ferdinand's voice had an edge. He himself wasn't sure if it was brought on by the minor annoyance spending time with Linhardt was instilling him with, or rather the recalled experience that was his first nerve-wracking trek into the depths.

He took the lantern easily, holding it high in front of him with some measure of determination. It was an important task, he felt, to light the way. He may have felt the creeping darkness sneaking up on him during his first trip, but now he had a companion that had yet to experience that himself.

A glance over his shoulder saw Linhardt yawning again. He didn't seem very grateful.

They didn't exactly feel the unsettling silence with conversation. Occasionally Linhardt muttered to himself, but even without his voice Ferdinand didn't hear the odd shifting of the earth that he anticipated. Perhaps there was none to be heard this time, or perhaps there was never a sound at all, and he'd imagined it in his own conjured paranoia. In either case, it didn't matter so much.

“Hubert said this connected four places,” Linhardt began, louder. This was meant for Ferdinand's ears. “The graveyard, the mayor's home, the coroner's home, and... something else. He wouldn't say. _I _think he doesn't know. This whole thing seems to shake him as well as you.”

“I am not shaken,” Ferdinand said.

Linhardt continued as though he hadn't said anything at all. “So which one is which? I shouldn't like to waste time on the mayor's home or the coroner's office. I want to see the something else.

“Actually...” His tone shifted with the change of idea. Ferdinand glanced back at him curiously.

“What is it?”

“The night before last they had their odd parade again.”

"Odd parade?" he echoed.

"Did you not see it? I suppose it's not much of a parade without floats or an audience, but it _was_ a procession. That should count for something."

Linhardt's way of speaking was becoming grating. He didn't understand how one man could possibly speak in so many circles without saying much at all. It seemed like fluff, especially when they were faced with real problems that were hurting people and killing others. He would have thought Caspar's arm was enough to sober Linhardt, but less than a day later and nothing had changed.

"It's always so late at night. I think around two in the morning? Two-thirty?"

"And you are awake at that time?"

"Have you seen the bags under my eyes? I would have thought it was obvious." Ferdinand remained quiet to allow Linhardt to actually continue. "But yes. Two-thirty and a concession walks through town. Every week, actually. Same day, same time."

"Is that relevant?"

"Well, I don't know. It's why I brought it up." Linhardt hummed. "Edelgard leads it, I believe. Her red coat stands out even in the darkest of nights. Most of the rest though, they're shrouded in black. I wouldn't know who joins her through these little parades."

"If you've seen them, do you know which way they march towards?"

"It's hard to tell. From my study's window... They move left to right. It comes to mind because to the _right_ could be to the _cemetery_. And if Edelgard is leading them, especially if Byleth is among them, it makes sense that they might be visiting that mausoleum we found. That room underground seemed more than suited for illicit midnight acts."

Ferdinand agreed in silence.

"Then we can assume the blood comes from somewhere like that. One of the marchers, if not Byleth or Edelgard themselves. But the real question becomes... How did Marianne get a hold of that statue? Let's say that mausoleum is the source of them. Byleth could have given it to her - or Edelgard, I guess -" The way he mentioned Edelgard sounded like an after thought. Ferdinand considered it fair: it seemed people had more kind things to say about her than Byleth. "And if it were a gift, that begs the question on if Marianne joined that strange little procession or she was given it at another time."

"Do you believe her fate was an intentional aspect of that 'gift'?"

"Oh."

Linhardt said 'oh' because they came upon the crossroads in the tunnels. Three different paths, just as Ferdinand recalled it. The lantern that hung between two pathways was no longer lit.

He set down his carried lantern and took the hanging one in his hands, attempting to light it. It didn't catch. The oil had ran out.

"Which way is which, then?" Linhardt asked, already curiously peering down one of the corridors.

Ferdinand hung up the lamp again and pointed in one direction. "That is the one to the coroner's office. I have not explored the other two, and being underground is a bit disorienting..."

"Well, we could determine which one is which. The graveyard is that way..." His speech trailed off into mumbled language. Only the turning of his head allowed Ferdinand to guess at what he was saying until he announced it.

"That one." He pointed. "Leads to the mayor's home. That is, unless these tunnels get particularly twisted, but we don't have any reason to think that. That leaves this tunnel..."

He stepped over to the fourth branch and gestured his hands dramatically towards it. "After you, if you please."

Ferdinand swallowed something and began leading Linhardt down that path.

So this path lead to 'something else'. That description was far too vague for Ferdinand to feel comfortable about it. How did it compare to the mausoleum altar? How did it compare to his first visit to this underground passageway?

Linhardt was quiet. He may have exhausted his stockpile of things to fill the stagnant underground air with, or simply decided to keep his thoughts in his head now. That left Ferdinand almost alone with his. If not for the second steps of footsteps, or the occasional murmur or yawn, Ferdinand would have worried he was completely alone all of a sudden.

In the dark claustrophobia of this underground path, it was hard to tell which direction they were heading. He could determine the slight incline that lead them down, deeper into the earth, and a slight angle to the walls suggested a curve. Both were too gentle to gauge how far they curved or how far they descended over time, but it certainly felt like an hour just walking deeper down.

It was cold, too. Ferdinand had once read that underground areas, such as basements or wine cellars, often held the same temperature no matter where they were or what they were shaped like. He couldn't remember the number, but he'd at least observed it anecdotally in the wine cellars he'd visited. It was strange, then, that it was getting colder. That should have been impossible, shouldn't it have been?

"Is it colder to you?" Linhardt asked suddenly. Perhaps he thought the same thing.

Ferdinand answered in the affirmative, but Linhardt didn't finish his thought out loud.

Moments later, he muttered an apology as his foot came down on Ferdinand's heel. He was walking more closely behind Ferdinand, now. It didn't matter much to him whether it was intentionally or not, but he tossed an "It is fine." over his shoulder back.

This spelunking as Linhardt had called it was almost as nerve-wracking as it had been the first time, but having a companion as they walked lent him a sort of courage that kept him from over-thinking what could be lurking in the darkness.

And then he saw a gentle light. In the curve of the tunnel, it grew gradually while they moved forward. Ferdinand kept the lantern on just to be safe, as if a lantern could really help them so much in a dangerous situation.

However, sure enough, the tunnel gradually widened. They no longer had to travel with Ferdinand in front of Linhardt, and could walk more side-by-side. Then, moments later, it opened up into a wide cavern, huge in comparison to the mausoleum cave.

It was carved out of dark earth and rock, though it wasn't solely _just_ a cave. At its ends and corners stood great architecture, carved of a strange white stone that stretched from floor to ceiling, despite the considerable distance between the two. There were pillars, both fallen and standing, as if such a thing could really support the weight of the earth above the ceiling.

The cavern was lit much like the mausoleum had been. Due to its size, though, it needed hundreds, or perhaps thousands of lit candles, sitting on great piles of wax from ones that burnt out before them.

Other, similar stone structures dotted the interior of the cavern. A dusty path sprawled randomly beneath their feet, and there seemed to be rows of pews also carved from the same mineral. It lead to an altar that stood in front of a great statue. At a distance, Ferdinand couldn't make out the details of the former, but the latter was large enough, and took up such a significant amount of space in this already surprisingly-sized cave that Ferdinand could see it almost clearly.

And it looked vaguely like Miss Byleth.

"Well, well," Linhardt commented, stepping into the cave in earnest. He rounded Ferdinand and began looking around. "This certainly is _something_ else. What did you think it would be? I didn't imagine anything so grand."

His voice carried well in the cave. He wasn't particularly projecting, and yet his voice filled the entire thing. Ferdinand assumed his question was hypothetical, and remained quiet. His was a quiet curiosity.

The lantern wasn't needed with the amount of candles keeping the place lit from various positions. Their flickering light couldn't illuminate all the way to the stony ceiling, but neither could the lantern either. Ferdinand decided to suffocate its flame to preserve their oil. They would still have to make the trip back, since Ferdinand doubted there was some other entrance to this place considering how deep it was set into the ground.

“You're here,” a different voice echoed in the expanse.

Ferdinand knew that voice. He turned to search for it immediately, but the nature of the echo made it hard to determine the direction from which it came.

“Claude?” Ferdinand called.

“Claude,” Linhardt repeated. “It would be nice to talk to you.” He continued deeper into the cave, casually searching for the man in question.

“Over here. I'm conserving my strength.”

Claude shot up his hand to draw their attention. The movement helped guide Ferdinand's eyes. He was propped up against one of the carved stone that fortified the cavern's walls, sitting limply. Ferdinand moved through the stone benches to draw closer. Had he been down here this whole time?

“Hey.” Claude spoke through a smirk. The casual tone to his voice stood glaringly against the reason he was down here at all. “How's it going?”

Linhardt approached just a moment afterwards. He began speaking from a distance, which didn't matter with how the cavern carried sound. “Have you been down here this whole time?”

“I need to stay down here,” Claude answered. “By the way, nice to meet you, Linhardt.”

“How do you know my name?”

Claude shrugged. “This is all playing out how it needs to. Say, you wouldn't have happened to have brought any food or water with you down here?”

“What's playing out?”

“No, sorry,” Ferdinand interjected. “I suppose I should have prepared something... But I had expected you to escape after nightfall.”

“I can't do that,” Claude said. He tossed a smile at Ferdinand. It still didn't touch his eyes. “There's not going to be any escape for me.”

“Do not be so dismal! If you are too weak to walk, I can carry you back to the surface.”

Claude waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, that's not what I meant. Do you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“I can hear it,” Linhardt said. Ferdinand couldn't hear a thing. It didn't seem unlikely for Linhardt to lie just to get more information... He wasn't sure if he preferred Linhardt lying or not. He'd heard the horrible churn of the planet shifting in the distance once before. If that were the sound, he was happy not to hear it again. “What is it?”

He looked over to Linhardt, but if he was worried for the sound he made no clear indication of it.

“Can't you tell?” Claude asked. Was he lying? “That's your call. That's the role you play in this story.”

Linhardt's mouth curved into a frown. “Am I supposed to know? It sounds like...”

His face twisted further in thought. “I don't know what it sounds like.”

“It sounds like nothing,” Claude suggested paradoxically. “And you know it.”

“It can't.”

“Claude.” Ferdinand's voice garnered the outsider's attention again. “Can you stand? It will be easier to lift you from there.”

“Sure, sure,” Claude dismissed again. “Like I said, I'm preserving my strength. But you're wasting too much time with me. You need to be looking around. There's plenty to find in this cathedral. I'm not going anywhere. Promise.” He winked.

It was too long of a walk to want to take Claude back to safety and coalescence and also return to find whatever they needed to, so Ferdinand would make a concession for now. Linhardt hadn't moved, still standing stiffly with one hand thoughtfully placed on his chin, other arm folded across his chest. There was something he didn't like about Claude's speech, and Ferdinand couldn't fault him for that.

He simply preferred the idea of a distraction to thinking too deeply on it.

At the furthest corners from the way they'd come in, Ferdinand found a room in each. A sort of carved archway made from white stone separated them from the rest of the cavern. The closer room, on the same side of the cave as Claude, held little of interest. There was some sort of well, carved of the same rock that made up most of the cave. Its similarity to the stone that consisted of the floor made it seem as though it emerged from the floor, rather than having been carved or constructed. Candles sat around the rim of it to help illuminate it.

Curiosity bade Ferdinand glance inside. He didn't give it much thought. A well seemed about right, even without a mechanism to draw water from it. Underground rivers and reservoirs were a common tool when it came to building houses or planning where people would and could live.

He bent over the well to peer inside. For whatever reason, he was surprised to find that it was too dark to see even mere feet down. The walls of the well quickly gave way to vague shadow and darkness.

And yet, at the very very bottom, there was a brief flash, a gentle twinkle. It appeared as though some one had, at some point, dropped a piece of glass or jewelry, and now it sat at the bottom to entice Ferdinand. Perhaps it was a clue? Perhaps he could learn something new if he obtained it somehow, but there was no tool with which to bring it up from the depths.

Ferdinand reached his hand down and ran the flesh of his palm against the inner walls of the well. No, it would not give him purchase to climb down or up.

“Ferdinand, what are you doing?” Linhardt's voice drew his attention away from that small glittering object and helped him pull himself from leaning precariously over the well's lip.

“There is something down there,” he explained, because he couldn't really describe what he'd been doing either. Without the glint to stare at, his previous thoughts felt overwhelmingly idiotic.

“And you mean to tumble in after it? Use your head.”

His chiding was light-hearted in nature, with an airy voice. Yet Linhardt held no smile, and his brow was still furrowed in consternation.

Ferdinand glanced back down the well and saw nothing.

“This room is extraordinarily boring, don't you think? I hoped for more from such a grand looking church. Just some hole in the floor.”

“Is it not a well?”

“For what purpose?”

Linhardt had a point, unless people were meant to live in this cavern. Ferdinand's silence remained his argument, or the concession he lost it. He moved to examine the room on the other end. From this distance, he could already see candles spilling out of its archway, more than were necessary to light it well. The waxes there were red and gold, rather than the typical white of all the other candles in the hall. In it's own way, it was inviting in an ominous fashion. There was hardly anything friendly or comforting this deep underground. Even Claude spoke in riddles.

At a distance, a glance into the room revealed a pale shape, bulging darkly in some areas. When he was closer, he could see clearly this was a person, curled into a fetal position, with a large and heavy fur coat covering his body. He had blond hair that messily cast itself across his face, and stared with one blue eye blankly looking forward. The other eye was completely missing, and in its place a gory gash, dark red having already long ago spilled from the wound and drying.

One look was enough to confirm this man was dead. Ferdinand only needed to see that glazed over stare to know. He'd seen something similar in Miss von Edmund, and Mr. Gautier, and he was convinced you only needed to see it once to understand for the rest of your life.

Linhardt joined him inside the room shortly after he knelt down to look at the poor man a bit more clearly.

“Dimitri,” he murmured.

So this was where Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd had disappeared to. He had been announced dead. Ferdinand wondered if Edelgard had known how dead he really was before the decision was reached, and if she'd said such a thing to prevent others from getting hope he may come back. It was obvious to see that no one could have assumed he would be here.

“This is Dimitri?” Ferdinand's question was more of a formality than anything real. He sighed through his nose and reached for the coat.

He was still, in a way, apprenticing under a coroner. Everything had changed so drastically in just a few days, but Ferdinand had adapted to the role since then. He did not have gloves, but at the very least, he thought any better clue to how Dimitri died may assist their efforts.

His hand sunk into the fur coat and found it hardened and dry, not soft at all. He pushed it off Dimitri's body, and it fell heavily behind the corpse, giving Ferdinand a good look at the poor coroner.

Dimitri's torso was completely open. The cutting was only vaguely reminiscent of what they'd used for Miss von Edmund or Mr. Gautier, in that the entire thoracic-abdominal cavity was open to the air.

And the stench assaulted Ferdinand's senses next. It was the odor of decay and rot, so strong that Ferdinand immediately moved reflexively to cover his nose and mouth. Even both hands could not keep it out. His eyes squinted against it, though they could have very well have meant to hide the sight of things from him, too.

Dimitri was not just eviscerated, he was gutted. His rib cage had been almost surgically removed. Hubert had showed him, using Mr. Gautier, how to cut a circle around the heart and lungs so that the entire front of the rib cage could be removed like a lid, and later replaced when it was time to prepare the body to look presentable for a funeral viewing. Hubert's cuts had been clean and methodical. Dimitri's ribcage was jagged at the breaks, reaching towards the center of his chest with sharp, pointed edges of splintered bone.

There was no heart, just a hole between the lungs where a cluster of thick tubes waited.

Everything else seemed in place, at a first glance, if allowance could be made for the way gravity drew the poor man's intestines out of the hole to sit limply on the floor in front of him.

Ferdinand's next thought was the wonder on if a cause of death could be clearly determined without a heart to examine. He heard Linhardt retching behind him, and the wet slap of his stomach's contents making content with the ground.

Ferdinand decided that they'd have to remove Dimitri from this hole in the ground, as well. That made two people that would need to be assisted up. He could probably wrap Dimitri's torso in the coat to prevent anything else from spilling out...

It was a ghastly thought, but a pragmatic one, and in Ferdinand's belief necessary.

There was still plenty else in this church to examine, so Ferdinand decided to merely re-cover the corpse with that coat. “Are you alright?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I'm alive,” Linhardt intoned.

They both were.

“You should figure out how to carry him up,” Linhardt continued. He was leaning heavily on the archway, facing away from Ferdinand and Mr. Blaiddyd. “I'm... Going to go over there. The altar. I'll look at that.”

Ferdinand spent a moment with Dimitri, simply staring. It felt horrible for him to end up here, like this. He likely had family or friends who had no idea the sorry state he was in. He wondered if anyone had prayed for him when he'd gone "missing", and if they continued upon the announcement of his death.

He thought these things directly at Dimitri's intact eye, staring at its murky, blurred color. He'd been down here for so long...

Ferdinand closed the eye he could and returned to his feet.

Though he couldn't see Claude from the archway, he was sure he hadn't moved. Linhardt was standing in front of that altar, right before that wicked, enormous statue. He stared intently down on it.

“Did you find something?”

“A book,” Linhardt returned. True to his words, the pages turned loudly, clearly made from some thick parchment that held an old age.

“Don't look at it,” Claude warned from his position across the room. “I wish I hadn't. You'll wish the same, if you can.”

“Your warning would have been appreciated about a minute ago,” Linhardt quipped back. His eyes didn't move from scanning the page. Ferdinand got the distinct impression that Claude was correct, but without any tangible proof, he found himself sheepishly moving to stand over Linhardt's shoulder.

He didn't look at the book though, and Linhardt seemed to understand this.

“You're not missing much. Some of this is impossible to translate.” Another page turn sounded. Ferdinand rounded the altar, pointedly keeping his eyes away from the tome, as he looked around for anything else of interest.

Atop the altar surface sat a wicked looking dagger, stained dark red. That was something. There was a bundle of cloth-covered something also sitting patiently. Another brass bowl, vaguely reminiscent of the one that sat in the mausoleum, but without a dark stain to mar it.

“It's everything...” Linhardt continued speaking. When Ferdinand glanced at him, he always held his brow furrowed with the effort of focus. “It really is everything. It's... It's so much.”

“Can you translate it at all?” Ferdinand asked warily. “Does it have anything helpful?”

“It says --” Linhardt stopped himself. He held a confused look on his face. Slowly, he brought one hand to point at something on the page (Ferdinand still refused to look) and held his place there. “That's when Claude will die. At the end.”

“What?”

“That's right!” Claude called from his corner. “I die at the end. It's not nearly as horrific as poor Dimitri. I'll take it.”

Something cold settled in Ferdinand's stomach at the blasé nature of two men discussing one's death.

“Sometimes surviving is worse,” Claude added helpfully. Ferdinand didn't like that sentiment either. “Linhardt knows.”

Linhardt made a single-syllable sound, as though he was about to add to what Claude said. He didn't finish the thought, instead the page was turned once more.

“Will know?” Claude suggested.

Ferdinand would have preferred him to stop speaking. He opened his mouth to request just that, but stopped short when Linhardt began screaming.

Instantly, Ferdinand's legs brought him back to Linhardt's side. This was fortunate as the man flew backwards, like a force from the book repelled him suddenly. Ferdinand was able to catch him before he fell the entire way to the stony floor.

That didn't quiet his screams. It was a horrific noise, not only fearful, but painful. Somehow, it cut deeper and felt more visceral than Caspar's yelling had been when Hubert began cutting into the meat of his arm. He knew for a fact he'd not forget that sound any time soon, if at all, and here was another awful indication of human suffering that Ferdinand was just as likely to remember.

“Linhardt...” Ferdinand tried cooing his name. He'd hoped his voice, or perhaps a steady arm to support him, could help ground him. There was no outward sign of what could be hurting him, but by now it was clear that the events transpiring in this town had no worldly origin.

Linhardt kept screaming. There was a far-away look to his eyes, and his hands moved to his face to clutch desperately at his head. His fingers pulled at his hair and clawed at his skin. One of his fingernails cut deep enough into his forehead to draw blood, and then his screaming began to subside.

It turned into wordless sounds and whimpers. The cut on his forehead budded with a swelling drop of blood. It rolled into his eyebrow, tracing a red path.

His eyes still stared distantly at nothing Ferdinand could perceive. Perhaps the clouded look was apt – they were already the color of the ocean during a storm.

Ferdinand called his name again. Those stormy eyes remained fixed on something else. Ferdinand tried to follow their direction, but all he saw was that looming statue of the thing that looked vaguely like Byleth.

“Linhardt,” he tried again. “Look at me. Are you alright?” Each word was enunciated clearly, separate from the rest, spoken slowly in some misguided attempt to reach him.

No response.

Ferdinand helped Linhardt to his feet, but he could recognize the way the doctor was now distributing his weight. It was all on Ferdinand to keep him steady and upright. When he attempted to remove his arms as a balance, Linhardt began limply falling forward or backwards, whichever way he was leaning first. He crashed into Ferdinand's shoulder soundlessly unresponsive.

“Linhardt.” A panic entered Ferdinand's voice, increasing with urgency and volume as he repeated the poor man's name. “Linhardt, just blink if you understand. _Are you okay_?”

He didn't blink. His eyes remained fixed ahead, staring but not seeing.

Now there were three bodies trapped in this cavern, and Ferdinand had only the strength to carry one. He set Linhardt down gently. The man couldn't stand on his own, but he was breathing. Sitting up against the altar like that he looked a bit like a doll sitting on a shelf... If he hadn't held the same empty expression that corpses tended to.

Ferdinand wanted to check on Claude first. He was still sitting where he was from the beginning, arms folded and eyes shut peacefully. His mouth was pulled into something of a smirk. Ferdinand failed to find humor in any of this.

“I am going to bring Linhardt back to his home. Will you be okay if I don't come back until later to help you up?”

One green eye cracked open. Claude held a wink as he answered. “Oh, I told you. I'm stuck here forever. That's how it ends. If I say anything else I'm going to end up like our poor doctor.”

Ferdinand wasn't sure how to reply. He stood, awkwardly. Time passed even if he didn't do a thing.

“Go on, Ferdinand,” Claude began. “You take him home, and I'll see you around. That's how it goes. You can consider it a promise.”

“...You will be okay?”

Claude laughed. “None of us will be okay. You'll see.”

“That isn't something to laugh about! It's no joke!”

Claude just heaved a great sigh. “...Yeah. You're right. Just go on. You know he's got some one waiting for him. There's some one waiting for you, too.”

There was little helping it. He had to leave Claude behind, and Mr. Blaiddyd as well.

First he fetched the lantern he left at the entrance and lit it. He could strap it to his own belt, and even though it beat awkwardly against his thigh with every other step, it would better illuminate their path than any other option he could see.

Knowing the walk back to town would be long and uphill (no matter how shallow the incline), he decided to carry Linhardt on his back. His arms rested lazily across Ferdinand's shoulders, and his legs were held flush against him by Ferdinand's arms. The rest of his weight pressed into Ferdinand's back, though without any control from Linhardt, he could feel it shift and sway with the steps. It was an unpleasant feeling only in that it felt as though Ferdinand were hauling some human-shaped inanimate object and not a human being he might have called a friendly acquaintance just hours before.

The walk out felt even longer without even the option of a conversation, and also the extra work out his legs were getting from supporting the extra weight.

There was no way he was getting up that ladder like this. Linhardt couldn't hold onto him on his own. Luckily, he knew which branching path would inevitably lead to the coroner's office, and though the fake wall was still an obstacle, it was one he could handle. He was just glad the walk there was uneventful. He didn't hear anything strange, and though he was by some respects alone, Linhardt's weight on his back was something of a comfort.

Because the lantern was strapped to his belt, it didn't light the cavern in front of him as much as he'd have preferred. Each step was almost a step taken into complete darkness, but by now he felt as though he knew the way. In this circumstance, it wasn't something used so much to light the way as it was to remind him that he was still capable of seeing light.

He set Linhardt down once he reached the fake wall in order to move it, and found Hubert inside the extra storage room, in the motion of removing the lantern there from off its hook on the wall.

“You're back,” he said, almost surprised. There was an odd smile on his face. His motions were stiff in putting the lantern back, but he helped Ferdinand with the wall. “What happened to Linhardt? Is he well?”

Ferdinand didn't know. “I hope he is just unconscious.”

Linhardt's early screaming began playing in his head again as a reminder. It didn't seem like some one could be _just_ out cold from something so traumatic, but what was the alternative? Ferdinand didn't dare even imagine it.

“I see.” He seemed to understand the implication. “You must be exhausted. Shall I take him home?”

“If I attempt to sleep, I will only have another horrid dream. We can go together. I have much to tell you.”

Hubert's smile in response didn't fit what Ferdinand would be describing, but he was happy to see it nevertheless. Hubert lifted Linhardt onto his shoulders and they walked back to the doctor's home. Even if it was another walk, it gave Ferdinand a bit of a respite as he explained all of the things they'd found in the cavern, including Dimitri and Claude. He included the things he'd spoken to Linhardt about, and for the most part, Hubert quietly listened.

When he was told about the night parade, however, his brow furrowed and he glanced at Ferdinand skeptically.

“I should know about that,” he said. “If Lady Edelgard is holding meetings... I always know when they are.”

“I know it seems a bit... odd, to say the least,” Ferdinand began. He barely had an explanation of his own, and what he was about to suggest was too wild to even believe fully. And still, he'd seen a man's arm twist into horrific shapes and try to suffocate him, and he'd seen a mere book hurt another so vividly. At this point, his thought was: Why not? “But for me... The nightmares of the past two nights have been impossible to shake. Normally I might wake myself up with a start, but they are... To us an apt word, suffocating.”

“You don't mean to suggest the _dreams_ kept me from realizing these parades were going on.”

“They cannot be the sole cause, and perhaps they may be completely unrelated, but strange things have happened. I do not think this is any stranger, do you?”

“Hm.” Hubert didn't seem very satisfied, but he brooked no argument against it.

“How is Caspar, by the way?”

“I left him after he fell asleep. Painkillers have a way of doing that to you.” He sounded as though Ferdinand was a child being taught a basic fact for the first time. Ferdinand was too exhausted to protest much. “Thankfully, it will keep him from hurting himself any further.”

It was true that when they arrived, the doctor's house was mostly quiet. Ferdinand hoped that Caspar could get some rest. They all deserved one form or peace or another, after the events of just the last few days, but it seemed unlikely to come.

He was worried about Claude. He deserved peace as well.

They decided to at least lay Linhardt on the bed. If he were unconscious, it would be a better place to wake up than any other, they reasoned.

Caspar was tucked in. Ferdinand hoped setting Linhardt down wouldn't be enough to wake him, but unfortunately it was. He made a groaning sound as he came to life. His gaze go Linhardt first. Ferdinand thought it was cute how a smile slowly spread on his face.

“Hey, Lin,” he murmured.

There was an awkward aspect to the thought that he hadn't yet realized both Ferdinand and Hubert were still present, but it was sweet regardless.

That is, it was sweet until he saw Linhardt's eyes dart to his right.

“He is conscious,” Ferdinand exhaled incredulously. He looked over to Hubert for guidance, but the other was only staring as well.

Linhardt did not have the look of a conscious man. They both knew from carrying him that his body was limp and heavy in all the ways it shouldn't have been. He hadn't moved from the exact spot he was set in; hands at his sides, head lolled to one side, jaw slack and mouth open. Ferdinand watched him blink.

He felt vaguely responsible. Another panic set in, and the only thing he could think to do to relieve it at all was lean forward and attempt to close Linhardt's mouth by pushing his jaw gently back into place. Like Miss von Edmund, when he pulled his hand away, gravity opened it again. Linhardt's eyes flickered back to stare at Ferdinand.

He imagined perhaps some look of indignant look crossing his face at the event of being suddenly touched without permission, but there was no change in his expression at all.

“Lin..?” Caspar called gently. Linhardt's eyes darted again to the right.

“Oh, you guys are here...” he continued. “Sorry I fell asleep, Hubert. I'm so tired.”

“It's nothing, Caspar,” Hubert replied. “You should go back to sleep. It's how you heal.”

Caspar paused. He groaned as he shifted in bed to sit up and take Linhardt's hand in his. His voice was quiet addressing him. “Hey, Linhardt. You okay?”

“He's... He is...” Ferdinand tried to explain, but he couldn't.

“What's wrong?”

Explaining the book an entire second time was too much. He'd already told Hubert, he'd already lived through that horrific scream. To look the man who he helped amputate in his innocent, honest eyes, and tell him that he was at least partially to blame for his lover becoming disabled, somehow, whether this was temporary or not stretched far past the threshold for Ferdinand's tolerance.

So his shoulders jerked in a shrug, and before he knew it, his hands were moving towards his face, fingers curving inwards, pressing into his skin. He choked out a sob.

This was just _too much_. He wanted a reprieve, or a rest, or some escape from event after event wearing him down. This apprenticeship, whatever it was, was supposed to be easy. The honest dismay of a disemboweled corpse could not compare to his direct presence in the lives of two men who just had theirs irreparably changed for the worse.

It wasn't his fault, and yet he felt responsible. These weren't his losses to mourn, and yet he grieved for them.

He whimpered, trying desperately to restore his composure. More spilled from his mouth before he could successfully quiet himself by biting his lip.

Hubert began speaking. Ferdinand clung to his words desperately, looking for anything that might help stay him. He explained, to Caspar, as Ferdinand had explained to him. The caverns, the cathedral, Claude, Dimitri, the book... He gave it a logical edge, spinning the tale without Ferdinand's emotional influence, but his voice remained sympathetic.

And he set a steady hand on Ferdinand's shoulder as a silent reminder that he was not alone.

Above his own whimpering, Ferdinand could barely hear Caspar wincing as he pulled himself up to a better position. His face crinkled against the pain in his arm, moving himself closer to Linhardt in order to pull him into the half embrace he could offer. He was muttering something in Linhardt's ear, but his voice was low and Ferdinand was still trying to keep himself from weeping out right.

It was working better now that Hubert had a hand on him to anchor him.

Ferdinand couldn't quite help himself from seeking out more of his warmth. There was something special to human contact that he sorely needed. Later, he might regret crashing into Hubert for a tight hug, and borrowing his shoulder to help hide his reddened, puffy eyes, but for now, Ferdinand was more than able to do so without thought.

Hubert didn't push him away, even if he didn't give him an embrace he was looking for. He patted his shoulder awkwardly. It was still supportive enough to help in some respect.

When Ferdinand calmed, he couldn't help but wonder why or even _how_ Caspar wasn't crying. If anything, he was the one who deserved to, and not Ferdinand. But that wasn't the sort of question he could ask.

“I am sorry...” he said eventually, once he was able to put together words without them falling apart at the seams or being torn apart by sobbing.

“Are you better?” Hubert asked. His voice was very close to his ear. Something about that...

“Y-yes. Thank you.”

Ferdinand pulled away from Hubert stiffly.

“That's good,” Caspar said. His voice was dry and distant. He looked at the two of them, still standing a bit too closely together, with an imploring look. “Now, not to be rude... But can you guys leave us alone for a bit?”

His request wasn't given maliciously. It was completely understandable, and even if he'd held anger in his tone, Ferdinand would forgive him instantly. After all, everything that had happened had happened only recently.

“Yes. Of course.” Hubert answered for the both of them, already beginning to walk to the doorway and excuse himself entirely. “If you need anything...”

“...We're probably going to need a nurse,” Caspar said. “But it'll get sorted out.”

Because it had to.

Ferdinand felt hollow inside as he and Hubert excused themselves from the building.

“It isn't your fault,” Hubert pointed out. Ferdinand just knew he was trying to help, or at least his gentle tone suggested that. Yet he already _knew_ it wasn't his fault. He didn't force Claude to go into hiding, he didn't put that statuette in Caspar's hand, he didn't show that book to Linhardt, but he was very much there, a presence the entire time, an audience to their tragedies.

“Thank you.” Ferdinand's reply wasn't very strong, nor was his heart in it, but he appreciated the effort and didn't want it to go to waste. If he knew Hubert at all (and he probably didn't), it was strange for him to offer condolences in the slightest, even when they were simple logic.

“But we should discuss what you did today,” Ferdinand added. A change in subject may distract him some, even if it weren't so very far removed from the rest of it.

“If you like. I spent the time with Caspar until the medication helped him to sleep. I left him alone. Perhaps irresponsible, but I wished to speak to Lady Edelgard.”

“About...”

“Yes, everything.” He sighed. “I don't like it, Ferdinand, but tonight we are going to meet her for some... _party_ at her home.”

Normally such a thing wouldn't faze him. Any other mayor, in any other town, and he would have felt flattered and excited to show off his dancing skills. Here, he felt nothing but apprehension.

Hubert must have noticed the way he stiffened, or at least some change in him. He agreed vocally. “I feel the same way, but if we're to see an end to it, I don't see any alternative.”

“You are right.”

“One more thing... It was Byleth's idea.”

He spoke her name with a clear vitriol. Any pretenses were gone now, it seemed. While Ferdinand wondered under what circumstances she might come to the idea, or all the horrid reasons she might begin to think of inviting them along, the only thing he could be certain of was how much he did not want to squirm under her large-eyed stare.

Under that stare, he was certain now, was that awful book, and that altar, and all those other things waiting underground for something.

“Do you have a plan?” he asked. Any guidance would help him steel himself.

“Somewhat. I'll tell you when we get back.”


	7. It All Goes Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferdinand makes a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HIT THE 50K!!!!  
You do not see it here because a portion of it is in the half-written chapter 8 that I've already begun.  
chapter 8 will tie up some loose ends and give more closure. most of the questions should be answered by now, but if you have more please feel free to hit me up on twitter! ([@hardkourparcore](http://twitter.com/hardkourparcore))
> 
> this was absolutely amazing to do and i'm so glad that every one's enjoyed it despite the fast and loose way i've handled this entire thing lol. thank you so much for sticking with me and encouraging me on my nanowrimo journey. hope to see you in chapter 8!
> 
> shout outs to trikey and the gf for proof reading this time

According to Hubert, as far as a party went, this one was not meant to be formal. It felt a little strange to Ferdinand, showing up at the Mayor's house after nightfall in street clothes that he'd sweated and touched a corpse in, but it wasn't as though she would know those things either.

Hubert assured him he looked perfectly presentable as they stood outside her front door, waiting for some one to allow them entry.

Hubert's plan had done very little to calm Ferdinand's nerves. They were, in essences, traversing into the lion's den. Byleth was linked to too many of the occurances to absolve her of blame, even without a logical thread connecting them, and at this point it was too difficult to say Edelgard was uninvolved, no matter how desperately it seemed Hubert had hoped she would be. In fact, she even had her name on it.

“Occam's razor,” Hubert had said, face to face with Ferdinand inside the coroner's house, just as they were about to leave. “Do you know it?”

“Remind me.”

He remembered it was a term of scientists, but his interests laid elsewhere. It slipped from memory.

“It's nothing difficult. The simplest, most concise answer is always preferable. Do not add complexity where there is none.”

Ferdinand didn't argue it, but he did wonder how such a clean little belief could fit into some of the extraordinary things they'd personally witnessed. “So your plan is simple?”

“I will kill Byleth myself,” he explained with a nod.

He'd showed Ferdinand a knife and where he'd hidden it. It was tucked into his vest, easy to access yet difficult to see, especially without the knowledge that it was there at all. Ferdinand's eyes kept glancing over to it.

It couldn't be that easy. Ferdinand just couldn't bring himself to believe that would end it all. Hubert had said things to the effect that Edelgard might be lenient on his punishment, once everything was clearly explained to her. He'd also said that even in the event that she _weren't_, he could tolerate any punishment given to him. This was for the good of Neelthod, for the good of Edelgard herself, and an act committed in the respect of those who'd suffered under mysterious circumstances. They were both (Hubert more tentatively) in agreement of accrediting that suffering to Byleth.

The door opening was enough to cause Ferdinand to start, bundle of nerves he was.

Mayor Hresvelg smiled up at them both, cordially.

“I'm glad to see you both join us,” she said, stepping away and pulling open the door to allow them entry. “I especially expected you, Hubert, not to come at all.”

“Why is that?” he asked in turn. Ferdinand had the impression that he was surprised, even though he didn't particularly give it away.

“You're an atheist, aren't you?”

Ferdinand's stomach dropped. What did that have to do with anything? She'd invited them in the first place. Would she have rather they not come at all? Was it only an extended invitation to be polite? He liked none of this.

Hubert stepped inside first, and Ferdinand followed after. It was all he could do to maintain the appearance of composure, so he held his tongue. Hubert could do the talking. No doubt he was more experienced and comfortable in this setting than Ferdinand.

“I prefer to keep an open mind,” he replied. “As you well know. That extends to all things. And after that cordial invitation, how could I say no?”

Edelgard smiled. Her appearance didn't _seem_ to hide anything. Honestly and plainly, she was happy for this extra company.

She closed the door behind them to reveal that Byleth had been at her shoulder this whole exchange. She offered a smile of her own, though nowhere near as honest as Edelgard's, and wordlessly wrapped her arms around one of Edelgard's. The light-haired woman didn't react much, only folding her other arm across her body in order to rest that hand on Byleth's. They shared a casual intimacy that was polite, and yet Ferdinand couldn't help but wonder if this too wasn't another aspect to what Byleth had planned.

She had to have a plan. She was the one who'd decided to invite them at all.

“And you, Ferdinand,” Edelgard began. It was all he could do not to jump out of his skin at the sudden address.

“Yes?”

“It's so good to meet you personally.” She removed her hand from Byleth's arm in order to offer it in a shake. Ferdinand accepted. “I believe we've crossed paths a bit these past few days, but I've been too busy to welcome you myself to our town.”

“Ah, it is good to meet you, too, Miss Hresvelg...”

She gave an airy laugh. “You don't need to keep such formality. I'm no more important than any one else in town. Just Edelgard is more than fine.”

“Of course, Edelgard.” Ferdinand forced a smile, praying to whatever would listen that it didn't look fake in the slightest.

He got the distinct feeling it did.

“You must have been just as busy. How is working with Hubert? Are you two getting along?”

He looked at Hubert reflexively. It served a purpose to search his face for guidance, or hand the conversation over to him. He had so much more experience with Edelgard, surely he'd know how to hide his plan to murder her lover. Certainly, he could hide it better than Ferdinand could ever attempt.

Hubert simply returned something of a similar look.

Were they getting along? Why was that such a hard question to answer?

“It has been _informative_,” Ferdinand eventually settled on, still looking at Hubert.

Hubert took it as a cue in itself and continued. “Yes, he's not as nearly as annoying as I'd anticipated. He took quickly to the work, which can be quite difficult in this business.”

Edelgard's eyes moved from one man to the other, then she covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “I see. I'm glad you two haven't had any trouble.”

She pointed to the rest of the house. “The sitting room is where every one has gathered. If you haven't yet had dinner, we have some food prepared. We'll wait a few more minutes and then get started for tonight. You know the way, Hubert.”

“I do. Shall we, Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand nodded. With quick strides, Hubert lead him to the aforementioned sitting room. The quiet chatter of people making small talk drifted from the room and into the hallway, but it completely silenced upon their entry.

It seemed every head in the room was looking at them. Some of the faces seemed vaguely familiar from the previous day's town meeting, or the resulting commotion. None of them matched to a name Ferdinand had been taught, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Seeing a friend in a hostile place (one that in fact could be very dangerous to every one present) was bad, of course, but the fact that they were all strangers didn't particularly matter. To Ferdinand, these were all people in danger by one thing or another, and the fact that they were staring blankly at him didn't change that.

They were all dressed in dark cloaks with hoods that were otherwise completely formless. The colors of their street clothes poked out around their necks, but otherwise they were completely uniform in both appearance and action.

Hubert didn't appear half as nervous as Ferdinand. Even as every one stared at him, he just walked into the room as if their silence was given out of a respect for him, rather than what Ferdinand feared it truly was. His confidence gave Ferdinand the support to follow him inside, and in the following moments he tried to keep steady, slow breaths, to rebuild his own confidence and still his fluttering heart.

The fact that there was food helped. An entire table, covered in a red cloth, was set out with a sundry of snacks. Plenty of the others milling about the room held plates in their hands, and Ferdinand felt relatively comfortable taking some for himself. He hadn't eaten since before his little trip with Linhardt, so it was greatly appreciated.

“Are you sure you want to be eating that?” Hubert asked. Ferdinand would have answered 'yes' before the question was posed, but now he found himself staring, mouth full, at Hubert.

He swallowed. “Why not?”

Hubert offered a vague shrug. They didn't speak any more after that. The two simply hovered silently at the other's side. It was clear they came together, but Ferdinand was also sure that Hubert had come to the same conclusion as him: if they spoke, and especially if they discussed any of their current points of inquiry, it would undoubtedly be heard by those around them, and there was no telling what those eavesdroppers would do with that information.

After a few moments, they returned to whatever conversations they held among themselves, though in lowered voiced and hushed tones. Ferdinand would have liked to add his voice to the gentle din as well, but refrained.

If asked, he might have said that eating finger food by himself with Hubert standing beside him and staring at him more than any one else would be awkward and unpleasant. In practice, it just _was. _If anything, it was almost comforting in comparison to the horrible things his nerves had inflicted on him just moments before. His stomach wasn't twisting in the moment, and his palms weren't sweaty, and his fingers weren't curling looking for something to press into.

Moments later, Edelgard and Byleth entered the room. Perhaps every one else they expected had already arrived, and he and Hubert were merely the last, and they'd only allowed them enough time to relax and try some food. It made sense to Ferdinand. He wondered what Hubert was thinking. He held a gaze that may as well have drilled holes into the two women.

“Everyone,” Edelgard called. The crowd quieted again to stare at her, with many people physically shifting their bodies to hear her address. “I'm happy to see you again, tonight. I know it's been just a short time since our last meeting, but it is nice to get together again, isn't it?”

Various affirmations were spilled out to her. _Yes, of course, it is, yeah_. She continued. “Tonight we will head straight to chapel and begin. I know it's a bit of a walk. Our dear friend Byleth will join us shortly after, as you know she needs to personally welcome our two new guests tonight.”

She held her hand out in their direction, offering them a smile as every one in the room turned their gaze on them. Ferdinand's mouth was half full of crackers.

“So please, welcome Hubert and Ferdinand. You already know Hubert, but Ferdinand is the man to be replacing our lost Dimitri in town, soon. I expect he'll make many new friends.”

Even though her words were amiable and her tone was light and friendly, too, something about Edelgard's little impromptu speech chilled Ferdinand to the bone. It sounded as though this town would just continue. Tomorrow would come and weeks would pass and one day Ferdinand might become their town coroner, far from home and dissatisfied, while people's own bodies twisted and turned on them, and while outsiders were punished for asking simple questions like 'What happened to my dear friend Marianne?'.

He swallowed again and attempted a smile. He hoped Hubert's plan would work.

Byleth drifted away from Edelgard's side and disappeared into the hallway. He didn't like her leaving his sight, but he wasn't exactly comfortable when she was standing present either. He would never wish death upon anyone, but knowing the fate laid out for her, it felt like some sort of comfort.

It was sick. As soon as he thought it, he rescinded it and convinced himself he was a better man than that.

“If you will,” Edelgard continued. “Let's make our way to the basement and later the chapel.”

Her arms moved to direct the crowd as they filed out, and Ferdinand moved to follow their ranks. Hubert was only following behind him. Edelgard placed a gentle hand on his arm when he was within reach.

“I'm going to take everyone there. Byleth will want to take you and Hubert to the cemetery.”

“And what if we don't want to go?” Hubert asked.

She sighed, like a mother whose patience for her beloved child was wearing thin. “Then you don't have to. But that means you can't join us at the chapel, either. You'll miss the entire thing.”

“We have to be there,” Ferdinand told him. He was more than convinced of it. When they went to that cathedral, they would find Claude, and something would come to an end.

Hubert's brow raised skeptically, but he didn't push it. Ferdinand was glad to have that trust at least. “Very well...”

“This means so much to me, Hubert,” Edelgard said. Her smile turned sunnier. “I'll see you there. Where did Byleth...?”

She appeared suddenly behind Ferdinand. “I'm here.” She spoke, and Ferdinand jumped, swiveling around to face her.

She stared at him with those big eyes, and that calm smile. “I had to get extra vestments.”

“Very good,” Edelgard said. “Thank you, beloved. I'll see you in a bit.”

Edelgard rounded Ferdinand in order to hug her, which she could not return as her arms were full of dark cloth. It didn't take much to conclude they were the same sorts of cloaks that every one else had been wearing earlier.

The two women parted and went their separate ways. Byleth bade the men “Follow me” and lead them outside of the house, through the front door. Her skirts swayed with each step, the clack of her high-heeled boots ringing confidently as she walked.

She lead them to the graveyard without a single word.

Ferdinand wasn't sure he'd have been able to do it without Hubert skulking behind him. He would have appreciated any sort of conversation to fill the silent journey, and yet Byleth wasn't giving one, nor was he keen to discuss anything with Hubert that she might hear. So he suffered the silence.

When they arrived, Ferdinand's mind hurriedly sorted through his memories of the day. When he'd come here with Linhardt, did they leave any trace of tampering? He tried to remember how they walked in, how they interacted with the mausoleum, when did Ferdinand replace the grating on the hole to the underground? It was hard to give himself clear answers, and by the time he was convinced that they'd interfered with nothing, Byleth was already at the door to the mausoleum, and she found it unlocked.

“I locked it today,” she said warily. It felt like an accusation, aimed directly at Ferdinand's chest, stabbing his heart. It was almost like she already knew the answer, and was waiting for an admission.

Ferdinand remained quiet. He'd informed Hubert that Linhardt had picked it open earlier in the day, so they were both well aware of why it hadn't locked.

“How odd,” she added. It opened smoothly, and she stepped inside first. Though she made no indication she wanted either of them to follow her down, they did.

The candles had been left lit all day, and were now mostly melted completely into the dirt floor. Their lights flickered weakly, dying protests of their desire to remain alight.

Byleth folded the cloaks she carried and set them on the altar, beside the strange bowl and statue. She shoved the smaller statuettes to one side, as though she was making room, and then, just as casually, she pulled a dagger from her boot.

It held a squiggling edge, curving many times between its hilt and tip, and was stained the color of rust.

“In order to join our church, you need to offer some of your blood to our King.”

She held the knife in both her hands, presenting it to them. Her mouth still formed a small, gentle curve. “Ferdinand, would you like to go first?”

He wouldn't. He wouldn't like to do this at all, but if it were a requirement to see things through he could see no other choice. He checked Hubert's face again for some form of guidance, but found nothing at all.

“...V-very well,” Ferdinand conceded. He stepped forward and took the knife.

Surely, this gesture meant nothing at all. Whatever Byleth believed it could do wasn't real, so there was no real harm in playing along for the time being.

“It's very easy,” she cooed. Her hands were on his shoulder, guiding and gentle and sweet. “Just one slash across the palm. One drop is all it takes, but more is fine. If you squeeze it all out, you can prevent a mess.”

His tongue passed over his lips. His entire mouth felt dry, and he still didn't want to do this, but he followed her directions regardless. The knife didn't hurt as it cut, only afterwards, and especially when he curled his fingers inwards to draw more blood.

A red line curved down his palm and dripped thrice into the bronze bowl.

“Very good,” Byleth purred. Ferdinand quickly withdrew his hand and held it close to his chest, setting the knife hurriedly onto the altar. Byleth reached for it not seconds after, and turned her attention to Hubert. “Your turn.”

“No.”

She brandished the knife towards him, as though she intended to plunge it into his stomach. Her wrist tensed, as though the motion to do so was already wired into her muscle.

“Why not?” Byleth asked. “It's a sacred act to us, to entreat our King for your salvation.”

“I have no reason to. If your method of finding new converts is merely vaguely requesting them to spill their blood, then I have no desire to partake in any of this at all.”

Her eyes slid over to Ferdinand, as though she was sizing him up. His skin burned under her scrutinizing. Whatever she could be looking for, he had no idea, but she seemed to find it in the way the corners of her smile turned up just slightly more, and she replaced the dagger where it had come from.

“You would like to witness our congregation in action first, you mean,” she murmured. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “That is wise. A man who doesn't act until he has all the information he can glean...”

She looked at Ferdinand. It felt as though her gaze could pierce through his skin. “And you... So pure of heart, aren't you? Very trusting. Don't lose that. The world would be so lovely to have more of you.”

Her words caused a heat to color his face. “Ah, thank you, Miss Byleth,” he muttered awkwardly. It came out on impulse, but he thought little of it. It was a compliment, in any respect.

Byleth gave a nod in acknowledgment and once again shifted. She took one of the cloths she had brought with them and bundled it. “Bend down, Ferdinand,” she requested.

Without seeing a clear pathway to avoiding it, he did, and she helped him into the cloak. It was about exactly the same as the ones all the others had been wearing in Edelgard's sitting room. The material was course on his skin, but he didn't anticipate wearing it for so long. When he stepped away from her again, he found it easy to move in. Good.

“Hubert,” she called. He, too, was given a cloak to cover his clothes. He must have decided that accepting that aspect to this little ritual was much safer than the bloodletting.

Byleth clasped her hands together cheerily. “I believe it's high time we join the others.”

She moved to one of the large piles of melted wax and still burning candles and reached to take one. The one she had grabbed seemed completely new, though it was already lit; a white cylinder larger than could comfortably fit in her hand. That couldn't have been a part of the candles already present, but she held it nevertheless. It seemed perfectly pristine, aside from being lit...

She skirted around them and began her exit. Ferdinand tried to follow her closely behind, but a pull at his wrist stopped him. Hubert had grabbed his hand, and pulled it roughly close to his face in order to examine his wounded hand.

“Are you sure that was wise?” he asked in a low voice. He wasn't looking at Ferdinand, but rather around him, probably to make sure Byleth couldn't overhear.

“You are the one who thinks there is no magic at play,” Ferdinand replied coolly. In truth, he had no idea if it had been a good idea or not. With Hubert's concerned expression, he was suddenly regretting it, but there was no feasible way to take the blood back into his hand. He'd have to live with the decision, even if it was the wrong one. “And I do not think she'd allow us both to get away with your choice. It seems as though this is what every one must do. That she made an exception for you is...”

“It's odd,” Hubert agreed. They didn't need to go into detail. It could be simply accredited to his close standing with Edelgard, or perhaps she had another plan in mind. The important thing was not to alert to –

Actually, why _hadn't_ Hubert taken this opportunity to kill her?

“Hubert, why --”

Ferdinand only asked the two words before Byleth was at the bottom of the steps again, waiting for them. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to see her to know this. Hubert had tensed, and turned Ferdinand's hand around, almost as though he meant to place a chaste kiss on his knuckles. It certainly took Ferdinand off guard.

“Does it hurt?” he said, louder.

That made sense. Hubert was feigning affectionate concern to prevent Byleth from discovering any other reason they might be speaking behind her back. Clever. Ferdinand only hoped they wouldn't have to go much further than the appearance of being caught in a chaste act that remained uncomplete.

“I am fine, thank you,” Ferdinand replied, falsifying fondness in his voice. “Thank you for the concern. May I have my hand back?”

He watched Hubert's eyes dart from him to the woman behind him and his hand gently release Ferdinand's.

Wordlessly, the two of them followed the woman out of the mausoleum. Once outside, she took the time to lock the building back, before moving to the area where just earlier that day Ferdinand and Linhardt had climbed down into the dark tunnel resting beneath the town.

Ferdinand bit his lip. His mind screamed at him to realize that they'd left the grate uncovering that inconspicuous entrance. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to remain calm. He could not give away that he'd already been down there. He couldn't give any of it away.

“How curious,” Byleth remarked. She almost sounded amused. “This too, has been tampered with. It seems some one has been very naughty.”

“Is there an issue?” Hubert questioned. Though it could not be heard definitely in his voice, Ferdinand imagined his inquiry was something of a challenge. Surely he already knew this was Ferdinand's fault. It served as a cover.

“Yes, but not with you.” Byleth delivered it with a smile. “Would you like to go down first? The path is very tight down there, and I believe you would do best to lead us there.”

“Does he know the way?” If Hubert would cover for Ferdinand, he would do the same in turn.

“I do believe he does.” ...It didn't work.

Though it felt like a loss somehow, in whatever game of tug of war they were playing with her, it didn't seem like they gave up much ground. Hubert silently relented and crawled into the hole.

“You next,” she cooed. Even as threatening as he found her, and how his hair stood on end in her presence, her voice was comforting. It held a motherly intonation, as though she really were ushering them to some safe place, or welcoming them home after a day of schoolwork.

And Ferdinand was disgusted with the bit inside of him feeling that way.

Byleth followed him down the ladder after, closing the grate on the entrance. The little light the moon let in became smaller. The candle she carried carefully down the ladder gave her more.

Once she set her feet on the floor, she offered them an expectant look turned sinister in the candlelight. “What are we waiting for?”

Hubert answered. “Will you give me the candle to light our way?”

“You know the way already,” she reiterated. “You do not need it, and I'm sure we will get along fine.”

Ferdinand did not like that answer.

“As you say.”

Hubert seemed to take it in stride at least. He gave no argument, simply turned on his heel and began walking down the tunnel. Even though it was in almost absolute darkness, Ferdinand hurried to catch up to him. He would much rather be closer to Hubert than Byleth, even if he loathed the idea of her following _behind _him, carrying the only light source they had.

In the relative darkness, at least the candle seemed brighter than it truly was. After a few moments of walking, his eyes adjusted to allow him to make out the outline of Hubert's silhouette before him and the curve to their passageway. That didn't make their trip any nicer, but it wasn't as bad as he'd feared.

The journey took much longer than it had in the few times Ferdinand had made it now. He decided it was a combination of the near-complete darkness and Byleth lurking behind them.

They did not speak. They just walked.

And the lantern, burning at the crossroads, was taken in Hubert's hand. Ferdinand was thankful, but gave no indication of it than a slight smile when Hubert's eyes met his.

He had paused in the crossroads, acting as though he didn't know the way. Perhaps he didn't. He had said the fourth path lead to _something else_. It was just as likely that he hadn't known where its end led as much as he wasn't sure how to subtly describe the strangely grand cathedral it truly was.

“Don't you know the way?” Byleth teased.

“I don't recall saying I did,” Hubert countered. He was right.

Neither of them spoke more, and Ferdinand felt as though he was caught in the crossfires of their respective gazes. Both intense, both silent, both stubborn.

After a pause, Hubert turned down the path towards the cathedral.

With the added light of the lantern, it felt as though the first half of their trip had honestly been in complete darkness. He could see Hubert clearly, even if the light was low, and he felt much, much safer with his vision so returned.

Hubert didn't so much as pause once they entered the threshold of the cathedral, nor did he put down the lantern. Ferdinand supposed it was wise. If they had to run quickly, it would be best to have it close.

His eyes scanned the cathedral in search of Claude, but he couldn't see him. The place the man had been sitting earlier was empty. There weren't many places for him to hide here... Was he okay?

Nothing else had changed about it. The people from Edelgard's sitting room filled the benches. Edelgard herself stood closer to the altar, with her hands outstretched, head tilted back, facing that huge statue.

The sight of it again made Ferdinand's stomach turn. In a way, he blamed that statue for what had happened to Linhardt.

Byleth quickened her pace and rounded the two of them. She turned around, walking backwards for a moment, and ushered them forward. “Come, have a seat. The miracles are about to begin.”

Ferdinand and Hubert exchanged a glance born from curiosity and trepidation, but did as she asked.

Her voice had carried in the room enough that Edelgard must have heard her. The crimson-clad woman turned around, beaming. “Welcome!” she said. “We can finally begin tonight's congregation... I am so excited.”

Ferdinand did not want to sit as close to the altar as they did. But that was where there was room for them to sit beside each other. Hubert leaned forward to allow the lantern to sit itself between his legs. Even then, he didn't release his grasp on it, rather adopting the pose, fully prepared to return to his feet.

Ferdinand sat at the edge of his seat. He wanted a convenient posture as well, but felt if they both looked ready to bolt, it might attract suspicion. However, a glance around told him that every one seemed to fixated and focused at the front of the room.

Edelgard beamed at Byleth, and when she was close enough, they embraced and Edelgard placed a small kiss on the other's cheek. After they separated, Edelgard sat in one of the front pews, sitting straight and alert.

And it... began.

Byleth gave a speech, one that spoke true to Ferdinand's heart, and yet he would not be able to repeat a single word back. She spoke of destiny and salvation, passionately intoning how their King could save even the most damned of sinners, and how there was a place for everyone to sit inside his mouth and rot.

It sounded nice, to Ferdinand. Yet something in the back of his mind told him it should not.

Hubert tensed beside him, and Ferdinand set a hand on his arm. A kind gesture, welcoming. He seemed so on edge despite what Byleth was assuring them with. Was he afraid of being unwelcome into the King's maw because he didn't give him his blood?

Or maybe he was agitated because he didn't take the chance to kill her when it would be easy, far away in the mausoleum. If he had, what would have happened to the people waiting for her underground?

Byleth raised her hands up as she called for everyone to entreat their King for a miracle. Eager to follow, Ferdinand bowed his head and clasped his hands to pray, but Hubert roughly grabbed his arm to pull them apart.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

Ferdinand found himself unable to answer.

His hands were shaking, fingers twitching. He decided to curl them into his thighs to try and settle them.

While the rest of the congregation had their heads bowed, Byleth turned and reached for something at the altar. He wracked his mind for what it could be. The book, a knife, something covered in cloth... She raised over her head, and the cloth fell away. At the distance, it was vaguely shaped and difficult to see in the dim light, but it twitched rhythmically, pulsing in her hand like...

Was it a human heart?

Byleth shouted out “Rise!” and the single word filled the entire cavern. It crowded Ferdinand's thoughts and felt like a real pressure on his very mind. Even once all was silent, he could still hear her voice echoing in his mind. Rise, rise, rise.

In the pews and benches, people raised their hands upwards. Ferdinand thought of following them. He found Hubert staring at him warily, and kept himself still. Logically, he wondered why he felt _bad_ for not following the lead of all the others. Any answer his mind offered him was replaced with Byleth's gaze.

He did not like the twisting feeling his stomach was beginning to offer him, either.

Various gasps arose from some of the congregation members. They saw the miracle first.

Calling it a 'miracle' was not something that made sense. His mind could offer no synonyms appropriate, nor could it define it as anything else. After all, that is what it had been named pre-emptively.

Perhaps instead of 'miracle', he could simply call it by name: Dimitri.

The corpse from earlier had shambled to its shaking feet. The cloak, which Ferdinand had used to re-cover his gaping wounds slid off his torso and fell heavily to the ground beside him, leaving him completely nude. He emerged stumbling slowly from the corner room. His limbs were bent at odd angles. Ferdinand did not see breaks in the bones before, nor were it evident now, if it were true. Rather, his shoulders were slanted, and his knees bowed inward. This was not the way a normal human would walk. It could barely be considered a stagger.

It felt like the entire world held its breath in the ages it took for Dimitri to shuffle towards the altar. His shoulders heaved with no breath, and Ferdinand could tell, as his exposed lungs did not move. His innards hung out of his stomach, wiggling slightly with the motion.

A ghastly sight. It was completely grisly to behold, yet Ferdinand could not look away.

Hubert rose to his feet an instant. All eyes were on him. Ferdinand had the desperate thought to grab his arm and pull him back down, to prevent whatever he was about to do and perhaps keep him safe, but he remained seated, merely staring.

"What farce is this?" he challenged. His voice carried throughout the cavern. Each head turned to watch him speak, even though Ferdinand could easily sense the hostility coming from the congregation.

"That is no miracle."

Ferdinand agreed. As Hubert continued, he found himself agreeing more and more, even if some part of him just... didn't. "The dead are meant to stay dead. So what? You killed a man and demonstrated your control over him. That is not Dimitri. At best, I would wager he's a puppet."

Byleth's upper lip curled upwards in disgust.

"I should have killed you the moment I thought you might interfere," she replied coolly. Dimitri swayed precariously beside her.

"Oh, I feel very much the same way," he responded.

The people seated nearest them began to stand and move. Mainly, they seemed focus on Hubert, hands outstretched to grab him, scowls turning their faces into unpleasant expressions.

"Stop!" Edelgard shouted. She too was on her feet, her red petticoat standing starkly out among the sea of dark cloaks in this dark cathedral. "Hubert, why are you doing this?"

Her voice was genuine, and her face looked almost pleading. She did not, however, give him the room to answer. "I was so happy to see you finally join us... What are you doing? Byleth wants to help us. This is just a display of the wonders she can bring to this world."

Hubert's mouth turned to a frown. He wasn't angry, nor did he seem disappointed. Instead, Ferdinand was given the distinct impression of... sadness.

"I had hoped you could be reasoned with, Edelgard," he said quietly. Were it not for the acoustics of the cavern, Ferdinand suspected she would not have even heard him.

"You are my dearest friend, Hubert," she replied. Her voice was just as tender, and her face just as sad. "I had truly hoped you would understand... We should be prepared to do anything to create the world we wish to live in."

"And that -" Hubert threw his hand in Dimitri's direction. He swayed gently from side to side, entirely unsteady. "- Is something worth doing? That is helping us?"

Edelgard looked at Dimitri. Ferdinand could tell by the look on her face that she truly didn't understand what Hubert was asking in one way or another. When she answered, it was given in the utmost confidence. "Yes. It is."

"Y-you've gone mad."

It was not an accusation. It was an admittance. It was a trembling acceptance of something that had probably taken far too long to truly accept. Ferdinand's heart ached to hear it. It was almost a physical pain, even.

"You just cannot see!" she protested. "I'll... I'll show you. I'll show you how much I -- How much _we_ need Byleth."

Hubert's jaw was already set tightly, his hands clenched into fists at his side. Edelgard turned and stepped towards Byleth, back straight. Hubert moved to stop her, even without the knowledge of what might happen next. He was already too far away from either woman though, and she fell into Byleth's arms before he'd even crossed half the way.

A man who'd been sitting in front of them in the pews grabbed at his arm and pulled him back. He stumbled backwards, only narrowly remaining on his feet. Ferdinand joined at his side. He wasn't sure what to do, or how he could help things, but he offered his presence and solidarity. He didn't need to know what was about to happen to know it would be horrific.

It was beyond horrific.

The heart -- Ferdinand could see it now, and it had to have been Dimitri's -- that Byleth carried was dropped onto the altar. It was strange to see it bounce slightly from the impact. She turned to Edelgard and smiled, caressing Edelgard's cheek with a gentle, loving hand.

Hubert once again moved to physically intervene. Not only did other arms reach out to stop him and attempt to hold him back, but he was too slow to be of any use.

As though it were as easy as ripping paper, Byleth plunged her hand into Edelgard's chest. The red that erupted from the wound stained her glove, and seemed almost identical to Edelgard's outfit. It was almost like her chest was welcoming Byleth inside.

Edelgard cried out, but it was not desperate. It was wails of pain, protests her body made despite her decision to bring herself closer, but she herself did not push Byleth away in one last chance for survival.

"EDELGARD!"

Hubert's cry, however, was heart-rending.

Byleth pushed Edelgard off her hand with the other. There was a clear force required to do so. She tugged on something within Edelgard's chest and simultaneously pushed roughly on Edelgard's shoulder. Her poor victim wailed in time with each action, until she fell terribly silent. Ferdinand hoped she fainted. He hoped her last moments were not in pain.

The heart was ripped from Edelgard's chest and brandished like a trophy.

Hubert clambered forward still, and the congregation allowed it. Byleth's face had twisted into something cold.

"This," she said. "is what Edelgard wanted."

And suddenly, she jerked back as the impact of a knife struck her in the shoulder. She stumbled backwards, still clutching tight to Edelgard's heart. When she regained her posture, she just left it there.

"Bitch," Hubert told her, as if it mattered. He got to stab her after all, yet that seemed to do nothing for it.

Two people in cloaks took the chance to grab him, one at each arm, and though he thrashed against their clutches, he couldn't break free from it. But they held him, they didn't seem to be trying to hurt him.

Not a moment later, Edelgard was pulling herself back to her feet. She did not sway as uneasily as Dimitri was. Her posture was more natural, though her eyes were completely shut. Her heart bled into Byleth's hand, and the blood ran down her forearms in several small rivers. It dripped onto the altar they stood behind.

In a voice that was not hers, Edelgard began speaking. "See, Hubert? I'm alright."

It sounded like multiple voices. There was a man, a woman, and a demon speaking all in tandem, using her body as the vessel to deliver whichever message they pleased. At the same time, her mouth didn't move, and yet there was no doubt who that voice was coming from.

Darkly, Ferdinand wondered if the voice wasn't coming from the newly formed hole in her chest, instead. He didn't like the thought, and banished it as quickly as it had come.

"No one can die twice," Edelgard explained. "Isn't this just better for all of us?"

Ferdinand, from where he stood, could not see Hubert's face. But he could see the stiffness in his neck, and he could see the way his shoulders jerked forward. Was he crying? Ferdinand could hardly imagine a man such as him crying, and yet...

There it was.

That was just how it was with anything this whole week. Ferdinand did not want to be a doctor, and yet, there he was. Ferdinand did not want to spend time with Hubert, and there they had been. He didn't want to hurt Caspar, he didn't want to hurt Linhardt, he didn't want to hurt Claude, and yet there they all were, another victim of Ferdinand's curiosity, as far as he could tell.

"Consider it, Hubert!" Edelgard continued in that disjointed, alien voice. "A world without death, where any one can live as they please for as long as they please... And you and I will rule that world together. Forever!"

Ferdinand distinctly remembered Hubert telling him that was not a part of Edelgard's plan at all. She had hoped to retire. There was nothing left of her but that body. A puppet. Byleth's toy.

She crumpled alongside the sudden firing of a gun. Ferdinand witnessed it in slow time. The joyful, open look on her face had but a millisecond to turn surprised as blood emptied on the opposite end, splatting across Byleth's pale skin and the top of her dress.

Before any one could react to her death, another shot rang out and the same thing happened to Dimitri. A shot through the head, and both of them crumpled on the ground like mere rag dolls.

Every head in the cathedral turned in one direction to find Claude von Riegan, holding a revolver pistol proudly in front of him.

"Not bad, eh?" he said.

Ferdinand fell to his knees.

So he was okay. Was this the moment he'd been waiting for? He cut it far too closely.

The entire congregation moved to close in on Claude. Predictably. Claude didn't move away. One even had their hand wrapped around his free hand, when they all just as suddenly froze in place.

It felt as though Ferdinand were standing in a picture. Hubert elbowed his way out from in between the two people that held him still, and they didn't respond at all.

"So, you're still alive?" Byleth asked.

"Just to piss you off," Claude replied. It was hard to see at the distance, but Ferdinand imagined he was winking. "I know how it ends. Go on, do your thing."

Byleth smiled wickedly. Her mouth was full of teeth that seemed packed into her mouth in a desperate attempt to fit them all. She didn't need to say anything else. Without her command, the entire congregation began moving towards her. Ferdinand rose to his feet himself, taking slow steps forwards without knowing the entire reason why.

Hubert caught him with an arm across his chest. The contact brought him to his senses, and he looked up at Hubert with some measure of befuddlement. He was confused on why Hubert stopped him, and also on why he'd moved forward at all. Hubert had no answers to give. A single sound drew their attention back to Byleth, who had climbed on top of the table, crouching to accept her congregation into her arms.

The sound was indescribable. It was like the ripping of a thick sheet of parchment, though as if such a sound could be made from human flesh. It was the sound of a woman sighing as she pricked her thumb with a sewing needle as she embroidered a picture for her son. It was the sound of a dog being kicked in the street after daring to ask for food. It was all of those things and more, somehow.

The sight was much worse.

A woman hugged Byleth, smiling as though she returned to a loved one's arms. The edges of her body blurred. Her silhouette became vague. She melted into Byleth's arm. The fabric of her cloak spread up her exposed skin, until that was all she was, and then all of that turned black and rubbery.

It was not just her. Man after woman after man all approached Byleth. When the crowd of consumed people became too large, they simply embraced the closest extension of her.

People turned into nothing but black mass, which rose in an amorphous tidal wave, stretching up from the altar and growing taller and taller. Ferdinand's first thought was _it is beautiful _and his second was _it is horrendous_.

Without thinking, Ferdinand reached up and wrapped his arms around Hubert's. He wanted contact, because at this point it seemed painfully clear that he could not even trust his mind.

How to even describe what he saw? It was a great, horrific beast. Flesh rippled as it shifted with its growth. The noise of creaking and crackling came from underneath its skin, perhaps the sound of a tree growing altogether too quickly to be natural. It grew and expanded, and in almost no time at all that Thing was large enough to crash clumsily – no, nothing about it was clumsy. It simply did not care. It didn't care at all that it was becoming too ponderous to exist underneath that wicked statue, and instead allowed its girth to knock the stone away indifferently.

Ferdinand heard the churn of the earth again. It was not distant. It was a rumbling that started from the ceiling. The stone supporting the walls of the cavern began shaking, and the ceiling began shedding great chunks of debris.

The great thing had by now consumed each body that was given to it, including Edelgard and Dimitri. It had no recognizable shape. Ferdinand could not compare it to anything.

Its skin rippled again, and it opened into eyes, red and black and infinitely deep.

Hubert tucked his head toward Ferdinand's shoulder. It took him a moment to realize that he'd turned, and was pulling Ferdinand as fast as he could, back towards the cavern entrance. His senses came back slowly, a strange enough sensation that he hadn't fully realized until that moment that he'd forgotten them at all.

First, the gunshots. Claude was unloading his gun into the-thing-that-was-once-Byleth. Ferdinand's eyes flickered over to where the sound came from to see the bright flashes of the barrel. It felt like the first thing he'd seen in a long time, although he'd only just turned his gaze away from the mass of curving eyes.

The third sense he got back was touch. Hubert's arm was wrapped securely around him. His legs were weakly attempting to keep up with Hubert's pace as he pulled Ferdinand out into the tunnels. Hubert was warm, and close, and breathing, and in that moment he seemed like everything that Thing in front of them was not.

The Thing pulled back one of its huge aspects. In the sweeping motion, it crashed into the statue behind it more, causing a variety of white stone rubble to rain down on it, which it didn't react to. The piece that moved then slammed down wetly on Claude.

He did not have time to scream, but Ferdinand did. In some way, his shouts were a form of mourning.

“You will not escape!” the thing shrieked in a thousand voices that ripped through Ferdinand's mind and left it, for one agonizing moment, completely blank.

But the cavern was still shaking, and the tremors got worse with every motion the Thing made. Rocks were already tumbling from ceiling to floor, crashing into and destroying benches indiscriminately.

Ferdinand, not knowing what to do, clutched fast to Hubert's clothes. He forced himself to turn away from the Thing, trying to obtain Hubert's pace. He couldn't seem to conjure the same urgency, though. His legs moved as though they were stepping through pudding, and his eyes burned with exhaustion. He wanted to close them... So he did.

In that moment his eyes closed, the Thing called out for him again with the voice of an old friend. He didn't know what it was saying, but the result was a searing pain in his stomach. It felt as though claws the size of his arms each raked across his skin and dug into the softness of his stomach. When he opened his mouth to allow the budding scream out, blood bubbled and filled his mouth, spewing out of his mouth and slithering down his chin in thick paths.

“Ferdinand?!” Hubert's voice was beside him, but when he turned his head to look up at him, he saw nothing.

His chest heaved as his body thrummed with pain. He could no longer see the rocks crashing to either side of them, but he heard them just as he heard the heart of the world pounding, distantly.

The crashing rock sounded suddenly very close to them. He swore he heard Hubert heave a small sigh, quick and relieved. “I hope it dies,” he murmured.

They didn't have time to stop. Even through the pain, Ferdinand's legs eventually found purchase. He could feel the tightness of the claustrophobic tunnels closing around them. The earth continued its groaning. The sound of dirt and rock collapsing was all around them. It, alongside Hubert's breaths, and their footfalls, were all Ferdinand could hear. He considered it a success that there were no more odd voices.

The pain in his side did not subside. He set his hand to cradle it and apply pressure to the ache, hoping to stifle its burn. His fingers made contact with blood, undeniably sticky and wet.

“I am bleeding,” he announced. His words slurred together with the blood still resting between his teeth.

“I've noticed,” Hubert replied dryly.

They didn't speak any more. Ferdinand focused on the clanging of the lantern shaking as they moved. Eventually, the sound faded, just as he became unreasonably cold, and Ferdinand lost consciousness.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out comparatively, but we're finally done! Thanks to every one who commented and talked to me about it however small, ya'll really helped motivate me now that I didn't have nano's deadline pushing me forward!
> 
> As always you can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/hardkourparcore) if you wanna chat! Next work is Christmas Casphardt :)

Ferdinand heard the shuffle of papers. It was done for his sake, he knew that for sure by now. Hubert was telling him without words that he was checking the mail. He often tried to pop the wax seal as loudly as possible too, if not just rip the envelope somehow to let Ferdinand know when he was opening it.

“Petra's penmanship has improved,” he announced.

“Read it.”

With no sigh or complaint, Hubert began reading.

“Hello dearest Ferdinand and Hubert. She spelled my name wrong.”

“It does not matter,” Ferdinand teased. He could tell Hubert wasn't mad anyway.

He continued. “I decided to return to Neelthod one last time. I wanted to see how well the earth had reclaimed it. I still cannot believe all of the creepy things you unraveled that week. Those things had been hiding under my nose for so long and I feel foolish for not having seen them ever myself.

“I will tell you the rumors are true. The town is completely gone. The streets Dorothea and I once walked together have crumbled into a great crater with no visible bottom. It is the biggest sinkhole I have ever seen. I did not stay enough to see if it was growing or not. I can confirm that it does not speak. I even tried to ask it questions to see if it would respond, and it did not.

“This is sad because I was hoping to find something Dorothea forgot when we left the night before everything happened to you. It is lost to that hole.

“I am glad to hear Ferdinand has recovered... et cetera, et cetera.”

“Hubert! Does she not mention how Dorothea is doing?”

“Dorothea is fine.” Hubert had read all he pleased, so now he'd stop and pretend like he didn't also care about how Dorothea was faring. Ferdinand, by now, knew him much, much better than that.

It only took a moment longer before he began reading all the parts he pretended to skip, just for Ferdinand to hear.

“Thank you,” Ferdinand said. He smiled. “We will have to write something nice back to her.”

“I will have to write back to her.” Hubert's wit returned to correct Ferdinand. “You can just suggest what I put in it.”

“You are infinitely frustrating.”

“I am aware.”

Ferdinand imagined the letter folding over Hubert's finger. It barely made a sound as it was returned to its envelope and set to the side. Hubert did not grant the kindness of more pointless movement to inform Ferdinand of what he was doing.

“This next letter is from Caspar. I must say, it's written atrociously, though all things considered, very well.”

“Well, I do not think I could do any better,” Ferdinand joked. “Go on.”

He could almost see Hubert's lip curling upwards in disdain before reading the first line. The words ended up sounding strange when formed by Hubert's dry, deep voice.

“Fond hellos,” the letter began. “It's kind of weird to think it has been a whole year since we first met.”

Ferdinand expected that Hubert was filling in words Caspar's writing didn't have. Kind-of instead of kinda. He doubted Caspar would write very formally at all.

“It has been hard relearning to write and stuff.” Hubert paused to scoff, probably at the vocabulary. “But things have been going well, considering, and I've gotten the hang of it at last. You can probably tell, I would not have been able to write this letter otherwise.

“We're getting on alright, but I've written with that already. I wanted to let you know how well Linhardt is doing. Exclamation point.” Ferdinand sighed in a small imitation of a laugh. “He still can't move anything below his neck, but he's figuring out how to talk again. I don't think any one can really understand it but me, since it's so hard for him, but that's what he'd want anyway so I'm sure he's happier than he can show me right now.”

Hubert paused. It was likely that there was a paragraph he was omitting, one that was meant only for him or containing something he didn't want Ferdinand to hear. Ferdinand wanted to hear it anyway.

“What are you leaving out?” he asked innocently.

“Do you wish to hear something so pathetic?” Hubert countered. “It would break your heart. You would think writing would keep him from spilling out his heart to any one who would listen, but I suppose it's because he didn't have Linhardt around to keep him from rambling. Who knows how much he rambles to Linhardt. Poor man must feel trapped.”

“No, he had already seemed happy with their arrangement before. Besides, what is it you are doing now?”

“Touché. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

Hubert continued. Caspar had written about how they'd settled down on the outskirts of some other city. They took Linhardt to the doctor's a lot, just to make sure he was okay. Some of the people he'd grown to know there in the past year pitied him, and told him that no one would blame him for just abandoning Linhardt in some sanitarium somewhere. He said he'd broken some one's nose after that.

“In your next letter,” Hubert read, “don't write things without telling Ferdinand what you're saying. That's not fair, and I'll tell him somehow. Signed, Caspar von Hevring. There's a fingerprint next to where he signed his name.”

Ferdinand chuckled. “You don't think he dipped Linhardt's finger in ink just to have him sign it too?”

“I have no doubt that's what he did.”

“I am sure my hand remembers the motion,” Ferdinand said. “Next time allow me to sign the reply, too.”

Hubert scoffed, amused. It was an acceptance.

“Those are all the letters you have today.”

Ferdinand knew well what that meant. They had received more letters, but they were all Hubert's or otherwise something Hubert would take care of for him. In a way, Ferdinand resented it. Taxes and bills weren't difficult to deal with in the slightest. Even without his sight, he could surely manage it, but Hubert didn't give him the opportunity to try.

Silence followed, interspersed with the shuffling of papers. That part wasn't an act from Hubert to include Ferdinand somehow in something he could no longer really be a part of. Ferdinand allowed it. All of his work was done for the day, if there were no letters for him left, so he could allow a bit of relaxing.

It took him a brief moment to find his tea, but he found no trouble in bringing it to his lips.

He had thought in the beginning that losing his sight entirely would be harder to adapt to. It was such a major change to his life he'd have anticipated to be stumbling trying to walk, to struggle to learn the layout of a new apartment, or feel fear at simply walking down the street. These were all things he was now confident in doing alone, even only a year later. The rest, he had Hubert for.

Their odd arrangement together had started when Ferdinand awoke in a hospital bed. His eyes opened to a strange nothingness. At the time, he couldn't remember losing his sight, so the surprise came first, before the vague memories of that cavern hall and the horrific events that took place in it.

Without vision, he sat a moment in silence. He knew his eyes were open, but useless as they were, he used sound to inform him if there was any one else in the room. There was no sound, but that didn't necessarily give him an answer either way.

“Hello?” he'd asked.

“...You're awake.” Hubert's low tone replied, touched with the dryness of sleep.

“Hubert?”

“As you can see.” Even a year on, Ferdinand didn't know if this were a dark joke or a test. He believed Hubert knew immediately when he'd lost his sight. Other details were muddy and didn't matter as much.

“I can't,” Ferdinand corrected him.

He asked what time it had been, because Ferdinand had the impression it was mid-day, and was informed that it was late at night.

From there, Ferdinand lost control of his life for a length of time. He spent most of the time coalescing. Whatever had happened to him, then, had left him with deep gashes. He heard doctors asked if he was tortured, begging Hubert or he for some answer to their origin, but there wasn't really a suitable answer to give. They never got one, but they helped Ferdinand nonetheless.

He couldn't really know what his body looked like, now, but his hands could feel deep valleys in his skin and raised ridges where there had once been stitches. He'd been informed he was lucky to survive.

In the time he spent healing, Hubert had been in and out of his hospital room too many times to count. He'd come in with a new piece of news that should have been exciting, but ended up unnerving when delivered through his voice.

Letters from his father were fielded by Hubert. Ferdinand could speak a response for him to click out on a typewriter he'd bought for that purpose.

(“I didn't know how you'd rather inform your father of your disability, so I didn't want my handwriting to give away any hints,” he'd said. At the time, Ferdinand didn't know if he should have been grateful for the thought, or unnerved that Hubert found no issue in, for even the briefest moment, pretending to be him.)

In between news like “you have a letter” and “the doctor has decided...”, Hubert came in once with the most surprising news he'd had yet. “I have readied an apartment for us. You'll be cleared to leave soon, and from what you've sent your father, I expect you aren't prepared to return home yet.”

An apartment for them. They had lived through a traumatizing experience together, but Ferdinand, at that point, had not yet thought of him as friend.

He had just asked, “With what money?”

So Hubert had explained the money he had put away for emergencies, and his own personal funds he usually used to assist Edelgard, when she was still alive. He brought up her death often in those days. It took time for Ferdinand to understand why.

He discovered it in how much work Hubert took on. He was at every door, to make sure it was wide open enough to allow Ferdinand passage. He was prepared moments before Ferdinand even thought he might be hungry, ready with a meal and already describing what Ferdinand couldn't see. When Ferdinand began looking for work – for specifically breaking into politics for real – Hubert had organized any paper Ferdinand could have possibly asked him to, hours before he was even asked to.

Anything that Ferdinand could think of doing, Hubert was two steps ahead, having already prepared it for him. It was painfully patronizing, and even if Hubert was no longer condescending verbally to him, it had been increasingly clear that he'd found another way.

Ferdinand was not the sort of person to take advantage of something he disliked for its convenience, and so once he was satisfied that he could continue the independence he'd once enjoyed, he raised his argument over breakfast.

“Breakfast is nice, as usual,” he'd begun stiffly. Hubert only hummed in response, giving Ferdinand the space to continue. “But I would like you to return to whatever life you had before, and I will take care of myself on my own now.”

He heard the cup Hubert had been drinking from be set back again on the table. “You're blind,” he said.

“And?”

He expected Hubert to counter that he couldn't do anything on his own, despite the fact that he'd proved himself more than capable. It should have been clear to them both that it was Hubert over-acting, than Ferdinand needing any sort of special assistance. Writing letters was allowed, but the doors, the laying out of his clothes, and linking their arms together as they walked on the sidewalk were all unnecessary.

Hubert didn't. He heaved a sigh that seemed uncharacteristic. It was heavy, weighted with something Ferdinand unfortunately could not search for.

He was quiet for long enough that Ferdinand considered breaking it first. He had a question poised to ask: why was Hubert still bothering with him after all that had transpired? He didn't get to voice it. Hubert said:

“I am useless, then.”

Ferdinand couldn't stop himself. “What?”

But he heard the scraping of Hubert's chair on the floor, and footsteps leading away, and he was left to eat his breakfast alone. When he finished, just to prove his point, he'd cleaned his plate (and stabbed himself with the fork more times than he'd ever care to admit) and left it on the counter to dry.

He was left to do things for himself for the next few days, even. Cooking was hard, but manageable. He broke a plate and regrettably had to ask the neighbor for help in cleaning it up, but she was a sunny girl who had no problem helping. In dressing himself, he found little difficulty other than the minor worry that his outfit was mismatched, which left him imminently once he realized one could hardly expect a blind man to recognize his colors. He made his appointments on time with help only from a walking cane, and when required, recruited the help of a friendly acquaintance to type his letters. She was not as fast as Hubert, but he didn't mind paying her anyway.

Hubert returned early one afternoon. Normally, Ferdinand might have been away on an appointment or meeting as he endeavored to create contacts valuable to his budding career. Today, he was home, hopelessly searching for a spot to put all the letters he couldn't read where they wouldn't spill out onto the floor. They couldn't stay on the kitchen table, but it was where they fit best.

He got the feeling that Hubert wasn't expecting him to be there. Normally he moved so silently, but while he wasn't exactly stomping his way into the kitchen, he certainly didn't move with his usually light footfalls, either.

“Good afternoon,” he said, as though he hadn't been gone for four days suddenly.

Ferdinand's head turned in the direction of his voice. Even if he couldn't see, he always faced whoever he spoke to, if he had any idea where to point his unseeing gaze.

“Are you back for good?”

“I... Of course not.”

As though it was obvious. It was that moment that Ferdinand realized he'd missed him, somehow. He didn't miss the fussing, though. He couldn't miss the way that Hubert may have smoothed down Ferdinand's long hair because he missed a flyaway brushing that he couldn't see, or how he may have moved Ferdinand's hand to help him find the morning's first cup of tea. But he  _did_ miss the casual intimacy to the contact; the warm, gentle grasp of Hubert's gloved hand; and the subtle absurdity of a man so given to dark jokes and crude condescension acting so tenderly alien.

So in that moment, Ferdinand decided the only word he could appropriately prescribe to these feelings was 'yearning', and it flew in the face of Hubert's purportedly clear decision to leave.

He had no real way of admitting this, though, so what he said instead was, “What?”

“I'm collecting my things and then I'll be out of your hair. I'm sure these last few days have been nice on your own.”

In answer, Ferdinand slapped his hand down on the stack of letters he couldn't read, still unopened on the kitchen table. It didn't make as much of a sound, for as hard as he hit them, but the sudden movement  _had_ to have drawn Hubert's attention.

Hubert took exactly one step forward. Ferdinand heard it in the silence that followed. “No, you told me to stop... coddling you. And I will, completely, once I leave.”

“Hubert, that is not...” He didn't even know where to begin in unraveling that statement and arguing against it. “Firstly, where did you go?”

He sighed in a way that sounded annoyed, like he'd explained this already and didn't know why Ferdinand had such a hard time understanding. Ferdinand didn't hear the steps leading towards it, but he did hear the chair across from him at the table scrape against the floor as Hubert presumably sat himself down.

“Back,” he began. “I went back. The whole town is abandoned or worse. I believe looters picked apart most of the town. Doors were left open, windows broken... It doesn't look like a place I lived only a few months ago.

“The tunnel system has collapsed entirely. None of the entrances are clear... I checked.” He almost sounded disappointed. “Edelgard is... Dead.”

“Was that in question?” Ferdinand asked genuinely. While he was undeniably confused... His memories were foggy. Perhaps there were a chance she was. He'd seen the thing that consumed her, and he'd seen her death, but...

Well, he'd never stopped hoping it was just some sort of unforgettable nightmare.

“No,” Hubert answered. “It never was. And yet...”

He let out some sort of laugh. It sounded like a crack, almost, or a look at something Ferdinand hadn't seen. It was one sound, a short crow, and then nothing. Ferdinand gave him the room to continue as he pleased.

“And yet I had hoped against all logic that perhaps... It had all been a dream. I suppose it's easier for me to treat it as such than you. I didn't have the wounds. I still have my sight,” he spoke bitterly. “Absolutely illogical. It's unlike me.”

“You're grieving,” Ferdinand offered. “That is not always logical, and you should not berate yourself for such feelings.”

“...Perhaps.”

“Allow yourself to grieve.”

Hubert decided to change the topic instead. He was infuriating in so many ways. “Did you want me to help you with your mail?”

“Yes,” he replied tersely. Ferdinand was not the sort of man to allow Hubert get away with that ploy so easily. “As you can see, I didn't have any one to help me with the mail after you left.”

“It _is_ obvious, isn't it?” That sly tone was creeping back into Hubert's voice. It was unsurprising that he would be the sort of man to bury his feelings thus. “I'll sort the bills from personal mail, and business will get a separate pile.”

As expected, Ferdinand could hear the shuffling of papers as Hubert deftly began his proposed work. He knew Hubert would have caught the meaning underneath his words, and yet it remained unaddressed. There was a meaning in that, too.

Ferdinand pressed it. “So if you leave forever, I will need to find some one else to do this.”

Silence, in between the shuffling of envelopes. Hubert didn't want to answer. He still sorted, though, so he wasn't running away. If he'd finished before replying, Ferdinand would have reiterated his point with another directed statement. Thankfully, Hubert replied. “What does it matter to you if it's me or another?”

Logically, it didn't. Ferdinand knew his heart better.

That didn't mean he wasn't inclined to his own brand of stubbornness. “They would have to learn how I like it.”

“Three days, it would take them, at most,” Hubert retorted. “If they're smart: one.”

Ferdinand puffed out a harsh sigh. “You are not useless, Hubert.”

Perhaps the pause that followed was Hubert considering if he really felt like continuing a conversation that was by now, days old. He met it with humor. “I'll consider my budding career in mail sorting.”

It took a second longer for Ferdinand to put the two pieces together. He could feel the frown tensing his lips.

“I do not know what your relationship with Edelgard was like,” he attempted. He had to search for the words as he formed them. They came out slow and measured, and the space he took to breathe was drawn out.

“You don't,” Hubert agreed.

It wasn't enough to deter him. “But you could not save her.”

He heard Hubert heave another great sigh. The shifting of mail stopped, but Ferdinand didn't know if that were just by proxy of him having finished, or if he decided to break. “I had the chance to kill that bitch before any of that happened. Even before Dimitri died.”

“But you did not know it would have happened the way it did.”

“I had so many chances,” Hubert began. The cutting tension to his voice was not lost on Ferdinand, but he did his best to remain still and implacable. “When we met, and a thousand times after as she spent night after night in Edelgard's home. Every time we were alone and she tried to ply me with her false words. Thousands of opportunities, I missed, up to the last one in that cursed mausoleum, before or after you'd cut your hand and allowed whatever hideous influence she held over you that hurt you so.”

The table rattled as Hubert's fist came down upon it.

“You speak as if it's easy to take a human life,” Ferdinand said carefully.

“It was not human,” Hubert hissed.

“It made a fair disguise, at least. I could not fault you for it, nor could any one else. What human could have possibly foreseen...”

The words escaped him. There were none he could sufficiently use to describe that lurking shape smashing into the stone walls of that underground church. He allowed the silence to speak for him. After all, they'd shared the experience, even if Hubert got out of it unscathed.

No, that was incorrect. Hubert escaped without any physical harm, but it had become evident by now that he suffered effects of his own.

Perhaps each of them, those who had lost something, lost something that would be so difficult to live without. If that were the case, Ferdinand should consider himself lucky. Becoming a doctor would be impossible without sight. A politician was difficult enough to aspire to, but completely manageable, so long as he had some one to help him with the mail.

“I was supposed to be better than that,” Hubert eventually continued. There was an airiness to his voice. He cleared his throat. “Must we continue this? What is it you want from me?”

“If you leave me forever, what will you do?” Ferdinand asked instead. The answer was there, somewhere.

He didn't expect Hubert to answer, and he was right. Ferdinand would just continue without him. “I understand you had a deep bond with Miss Edelgard, but... being unable to protect her does not make you useless.

“I just asked you to give me more space, for I am still capable of much on my own. I would like your help, without being suffocated. If you do not have more pressing matters to attend to, then don't _leave_.”

Hubert eventually replied, “Fine.” Before he murmured to excuse himself from the table, and Ferdinand heard his weight on the staircase up.

So Ferdinand hadn't been able to excise the full truth from one conversation, but Hubert didn't take flight again. He learned in little ways how important she had been to him. One day over tea, he'd made an off-handed comment about how this blend had been her favorite, though she didn't drink much without company. Ferdinand gathered they'd been closer than friends.

He could only imagine how hard it was to grieve without any stone to visit, nor anything to bury, even symbolically. Ferdinand made the suggestion once that they bury a casket or urn full of nothing, just to mark a final good-bye, to allow peace to whoever needed it most (Hubert had decided that by this he meant Edelgard, when he hadn't). Hubert had declared it was too sentimental and silly to carry through with, and Ferdinand found it difficult to try managing it himself with his disability, so the plan eventually fell through.

But he and Hubert had a budding friendship. It seemed only obvious that those who suffer great tragedy are drawn to each other, and there was no one else in the world who could proclaim to have a similar experience to what they'd had in Neelthod.

In that context, maybe Ferdinand should not have been surprised when Hubert's hands began brushing up against his; soft enough to be accidental, but purposeful enough to be otherwise.

Hubert had one day brought a form of writing called 'braille' to Ferdinand, and they'd taught themselves how to read it together. Ferdinand could write it a little bit, but not as well as Hubert could. It helped restore another aspect to his independence he'd lost, and at the time he'd worried if this weren't some sort of parting gift. Without a barrier between Ferdinand and his letters, Hubert would step out, wouldn't he?

He couldn't. Not all those Ferdinand kept correspondence with could print their words in braille, and others refused outright to try. Hubert still had a use, but by that point, they both knew he stayed for other reasons.

So in the present day, Ferdinand had no problem reaching blindly in a search for Hubert's hand, which was given to him in confidence.

It really had been one year since they'd met, or thereabouts. One year since all of that happened. It felt both like that was too long an estimate for the space in between and also entirely too short. The memories remained fresh in his mind (and often revisited him as nightmares, though not as reliably of late), even though he knew the months had passed.

Ferdinand had become a politician, not a doctor, and Hubert was his lover, not a nuisance, and every one else had become routine pen-pals, as long as they were capable of it. If all Ferdinand had to suffer for it was blindness and some interesting scars across his chest and stomach, he felt he had the easier time of it. Then again, the mixing smell of his afternoon tea and Hubert's afternoon coffee had that effect on him of late.

He let out a contented sigh.

“Tired already?” Hubert suggested. Ferdinand could hear the playful smirk shaping his voice. Another day he may have returned it with light-hearted banter of his own, but that wasn't today.

“Comfortable,” Ferdinand replied. It was enough of a response to satisfy Hubert. Even with one hand settled underneath his, he could hear Hubert's pen scratching parchment as he worked on whichever task he felt was necessary. When the scratching stopped, the soft clink of a teacup rang in the silence, and another clink would usher in another round of scratching.

Ferdinand could envision the scene, in his mind's eye, even without any real input. He didn't  _think_ he'd forgotten what colors were, but he wondered what colors he might be dressed in, at the moment, or if this blend of fruity tea was as vividly orange as he remembered.

He didn't wonder so much if Hubert was wearing black – that was a given. He was sure of it. There was just another piece missing.

“Hubert,” he began again after a moment.

“Yes, dear?”

Ferdinand's hand gave Hubert's a squeeze. “I am not sure I ever had the pleasure of bearing witness to your smile. Which, by the way, I am certain is stunning.”

Hubert made a single-syllable sound. He did that when his mind was searching for words he found difficult to speak. For a man who could easily conjure morbid ideas and grim threats, he often battled a strange struggle in speaking romantically.

“If you remember what I look like, you can imagine it better,” he settled on. The hollow quality of his tone belied the grace with which it was delivered. He was flustered.

“Surely you will at least allow me to complain.”

Hubert exhaled loudly through his nose. He stood, and not a moment later was the heat radiating off of his face warming Ferdinand's cheek. Slowly, he pressed his lips there, and then, he smiled.

It wasn't as though Ferdinand could actually feel the shape of it, or identify at all how it may have been to experience the sight of it, rather than just the feel. But all the same, he felt lucky to be sitting down, as his knees felt weak.

“Satisfied?” At this distance, Hubert's whisper in his ear came with the sensation of his warm breath.

“I think I am,” Ferdinand yielded. “But if you decide to do that again, I would complain less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I originally wanted to put this note in when I first posted this, but late is better than never, especially if you're some one who came back for a re-read or whatever. I just wanted to say that, if you liked this story at all, and you'd like to take it with you on your next adventure, my one request is that we all stop referring to this genre of horror as "Lovecraftian" and shift it to "Cosmic Horror".... because fuck that guy and what he named his cat, right?
> 
> Thank you again for reading the whole thing, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I had fun writing it. This is still going to be an important story for me to have finished, so I'm glad if you've enjoyed it too!


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